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THE LUCK OF 
LARAMIE RANCH 




/ 























“‘Art, how long has this been coming on?’ he demanded.” 

[Page 208.] 


THE LUCK OF 
LARAMIE RANCH 


BY 

JOHN HARBOTTLE 



ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK AND LONDON 
D, APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1913 



TZs 

M %\AL 


COPYMGHT, IQI3, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 





I 


\ 


Printed in the United States of America 





©CI,A3;j45 0 5 


^0 all boys whose ages may range between 
six and sixty ^ whose hearts are young though 
their years may be old, whose blood runs 
swift when they read of deeds they have 
longed to do; and to all sisters and mothers 
whose hearts rejoice in the manliness of 
their brothers and sonSy I dedicate this book. 


8THSTH03 


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, ,;V-: 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Drifting Herd i 

II. Past Satan’s Slide 14 

III. A Chance for School 22 

IV. Brute Vandals of the Plains ... 33 

V. With Rope and Iron 39 

VI. The Round-up Reveals a Rustler . . 49 

VII. Lessons on Laramie Flats .... 59 

VIII. Ninety Feet to the Top 78 

IX. Kenneth Fights for Fair Play ... 91 

X. Molly Shannon's Christmas . . . 112 

XI. Colonel Haney's Christmas Speech . 128 

XII. Trapped in the River of Lost Souls . 144 

XIII. Real Vandals of the Plains . . . 168 

XIV. The Little Kentucky Whip . . . 179 

XV. That Mess of Snipe 187 

XVI. The Salted Springs 210 

XVII. Roarer Plays TO Win 231 

XVIII. In Sight of the Goal 247 

XIX. The Ruined Colt 258 

XX. In the Grip of the Desert .... 268 

XXL The Spirit of Seventy-six .... 289 

XXII. Good Luck at Last 309 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


rACTNG 

PAGE 

** ‘Art, how long has this been coming on?’ he 


demanded” Frontispiece 

“With a troubled face he called to Arthur, ‘Come 

back here, Art’ ” 34 

“ ‘Father,’ he cried, ‘I just saw Roarer’ ” . . , . 234 ]/ 

“The woman looked up, her eyes dull with the agony 

of despair” 284 


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0^-1 t:i,s2 ''[dSoan^ji Jl±h •ct ijtsils tirl'" • 



The Luck of Laramie Ranch 


CHAPTER I 

THE DRIFTING HERD 

S AY, Father,^' exclaimed Kenneth McGregor one 
early morning in April, ‘‘why not let us drive 
the cattle to the range to-day? Down here 
there’s hardly grass enough ; so it takes a lot of extra 
hay to fill them up. Wouldn’t it be a good scheme?” 

Mr. McGregor’s reply was slow in coming, as were 
many of his statements. He glanced keenly out at 
the long splashes of pale sunlight which slipped be- 
tween dark rolls of stratus clouds and made of the 
grassy plain a lovely mixture of green and gold. Out 
of the northeast, steel-gray and heavy, shot phalanx 
after phalanx of fluffy, silvered clouds, chasing each 
other up from the horizon. They sped low along 
the earth, darting upward when halfway across the 
sky, where they vanished, leaving but misty threads 
in their wake. 

“I’m afraid to risk it, Kenneth,” said the grizzled 
I 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

Scot. ^‘Spring is early yet, and we seem to be in 
for another stiff northeaster — judging from indica- 
tions. What it will be I cannot tell — snow, sleet, or 
sand. At any rate, the cows and calves will be much 
safer at the ranch till fair weather comes in earnest. 
They can graze around here for a few days and piece 
out with hay — we have plenty to spare.” 

^‘Do you really think we will have a storm. Uncle 
Jim?” asked Arthur. ‘These clouds have been flying 
up like this for three other mornings, but before ten 
o’clock the sky has cleared off again as bright as in 
June. Yesterday was the finest day we’ve had since 
last fall.” 

“It may amount to nothing, after all; but we shall 
wait till the weather seems to be settled again. I 
do not care to have the experiences of last year and 
the year before repeated. We cannot afford it.” 

Two years before in the early spring a terrific 
wind-storm had driven the McGregor herd from their 
grazing grounds on Spring Creek and scattered them 
over miles of territory. Ten busy, anxious days in the 
saddle had gathered them in again, but six pitiful 
clumps of fur and bone bore mute testimony both to 
the relentless pounding of the storm and the brute 
vandals that followed in its wake. 

A year later, anticipating a similar storm, Mr. Mc- 
Gregor sent the boys out to swing the herd into line 
with the ranch, toward which they could drift and 


2 


THE DRIFTING HERD 


stop. They were too late, the storm descending with 
sudden, characteristic fury. It swept them resistlessly 
before it to the brink of Devil's Blowout, a vast wind- 
formed sand-pit on the plains whose maw stretched a 
crescent trap into the teeth of northern gales. In 
the vortex of the pit were many skeletons whose 
bleaching bones reached out of the yielding sand. Up 
to the treacherous edge of this the boys were crowded, 
before the cattle, after a long, vain effort to turn 
them around its entrapping horns. Only by herculean 
labor and the final cessation of the wind were the 
cattle prevented from pushing blindly over the brink, 
where half of them must have surely perished. 

Kenneth and Arthur went on to the barn and 
hitched a horse to the buckboard for Mr. McGregor, 
who was starting to town. Then they turned out the 
stock and watched them for a moment as they 
scattered eagerly after the short, toothsome forage. 
When the chores were finished both boys went into 
the shed to complete some odd jobs of repairing begun 
the day before. 

As the ranchman drove out of the yard he called 
back to Kenneth: 

‘Tt's very apt to rain or snow before night, so be 
careful that the little calves do not get chilled. If 
it storms put them and their mothers right into the 
sheds.'' 

Two hours later, while braiding a ^'hondu" into 

3 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


his lariat, Arthur rose, stretched his cramped legs and 
went to the door. 

“Kent, we're in for some nasty weather, sure 
enough. She’s spitting snow now,” he remarked, 
with an observant glance at the sky, which now was 
overcast with low, scurrying, steel-gray clouds. “Now 
that’s queer,” he added, peering outside to the east 
and west, “there’s not a cow to be seen.” 

“You’re looking south. Art; go to the corner and 
look up north. They always graze against the wind 
when there’s a storm brewing.” 

“Why, of course,” laughed Arthur as he went out. 
“I knew that. Sheep do, too. That’s so they can 
drift back easily when the storm begins, I suppose.” 

In a few seconds he came rushing back, after having 
encircled the shed. 

“Kent, there’s not a hoof in sight up north, either,” 
he called. 

“What’s that?” exclaimed Kenneth, dropping his 
work and running out to see for himself. “They 
haven’t all been over the hill at once since grass 
began.” 

“Won’t we have to hunt them up and swing them 
back to the ranch before it gets too stormy?” asked 
Arthur. 

“Sure. The storm is liable to break any minute — 
it’s going to be a hummer, too.” 

By the time they had saddled their ponies the snow 

4 


THE DRIFTING HERD 


was falling freely. There was little wind, however, 
so they felt no alarm. Half an hour would round up 
the herd from over the hills and get the cows with 
little calves back into shelter. 

Kenneth McGregor, though but sixteen years of 
age, had long been schooled to responsibility, and met 
his problems like a man. The twenty years of grim 
battling his parents had done against the rigors and 
discouragements of the frontier had given their son 
a birthright of pluck and determination that nothing 
could take away. Even when a little boy he had 
been driven to face many bitter odds, so, as he grew 
older, he learned to think and act quickly for himself. 

Arthur, his cousin and senior by a year, had come 
out an orphan from Chicago several years before; 
but, being new to the conditions of his adopted home, 
had followed Kenneth's guidance in any matters of 
importance. The years had made no change, so the 
younger lad remained the leader of the two. 

At the gate they paused at a sign from Kenneth. 

‘‘Art, the cattle may have swung off toward the 
west, so you circle around in that direction; Til go 
east and meet you straight north. Whoever sees the 
cattle first can signal to the other." 

Ten minutes later the boys met on the hill a mile 
north of the ranch, perplexed that neither had caught 
sight of the wandering cattle. 

“Now what do you think of that?" exclaimed 

5 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Arthur as he approached. ‘The snow isn't so thick 
but I could see clear to Satan’s Slide, and there wasn’t 
a cow in sight.” 

“And there’s not a thing off east,” replied Kenneth, 
greatly perturbed. 

“You don’t suppose they could have turned south,” 
suggested Arthur. 

“No, they headed north when we started them out, 
and I’m sure they’d never go back the other way — the 
grass isn’t nearly so good. I can’t imagine — ^yes, I 
can, too” — Kenneth suddenly shouted — “they’ve 
struck out for the springs — that’s what they’ve done. 
Come on.” Kenneth put spurs to his pony and shot 
ahead. 

“We’ve no time to waste,” he called as they sped 
along. “With two hours’ start they must be nearly 
there by now, for if one or two of those old cows 
made up their minds to go they’d waste little time on 
this short grass. I wish we’d kept a closer watch.” 

Spring Creek, where the McGregors ranged their 
cattle in the summer, was six miles north and west 
of the ranch. The springs were simply a few little 
pools in the sandy bed of the creek, which was other- 
wise usually dry. The long, fertile draw through 
which ran the meandering course was splendidly pro- 
tected by the high forbidding hills on either side. The 
water supply for stock was inexhaustible and the 
summer forage bountiful 

6 


THE DRIFTING HERD 


As their ponies sped along up and over the rise 
of a dozen gently rolling hills the boys could occa- 
sionally see the sharp crest of Satan’s Slide outlined 
against the heavy sky to the west. This slide, named 
from the steep incline of yielding sand which dropped 
away a hundred feet from the plain above, was but 
the face of a shifting dune. It was little different 
from the vast, changing dunes of the Sahara, or the 
lesser ones of the east Canadian coast. There are 
many such, originating in some simple obstruction — 3 , 
tiny knoll, a tuft of soap-weed, cactus, or even a 
carcass, which has first offered opposition to the oc- 
casional furious winds. The sand driven against these 
obstacles later forms little hillocks sloping gently up 
with the winds, to drop off sharply in the lee, forming 
inclines often as abrupt as forty-five degrees. Down 
these will roll the accumulated sands of years, the 
slides creeping forward like dry, inland deltas, and 
forming dangerous traps for drifting stock. Many a 
herd has been pushed to the edge and crowded blindly 
over, some to be crushed and smothered under those 
that followed. 

There was but little snow falling and the air was 
somewhat warmer when the boys caught up with the 
stragglers. The main herd could be seen nearly a mile 
ahead climbing the long hill that overlooked the 
springs. 

"‘We'll soon have them on the home trail,” said 

7 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth as they galloped around to overtake the 
leaders. ‘‘I don’t believe there’s going to be much 
of a snow, after all.” 

‘‘Maybe not much snow, but there’s wind coming,” 
replied Arthur. “See how those clouds shoot out of 
the northeast, almost dragging the ground. I can 
imagine I hear it roaring off there. Listen — can’t 
you?” 

Both checked their ponies and listened. 

“Say, Art, you’re right,” exclaimed Kenneth after 
the pause. “We’re in for a regular nor’easter. She’ll 
be swift and sticky, too. We’d better get a rousing 
hustle on these cattle,” he finished, spurring his pony 
ahead with a sudden dash. 

Already the cattle had sensed the storm and were 
heading slowly away from the wind. Many of the 
stragglers had long since turned, but the leaders, bent 
on reaching their favorite summer grounds, had 
ignored the signs of storm and reluctantly swerved 
only when the first sharp gusts opposed them. 

The boys had just reached the foremost of the 
cattle when the blizzard fell upon them with an un- 
expected roar. The snow which had been floating 
gently down in a few great fluffy crystals now sud- 
denly whirled around them in a seething cloud of 
white. The wind drove down from the northeast, 
instantly turning the cattle before it in the direction 
8 


THE DRIFTING HERD 


of Satan’s Slide and the river beyond, at a sharp 
angle from the ranch. 

Separating, the boys galloped swiftly toward the 
ends of the long line and began the difficult task of 
bunching the cattle, now drifting complacently along, 
two hundred and fifty abreast. The snow, less dense 
than in many of the April blizzards, was rapidly 
changing to stinging particles of ice, while the gale 
was swelling in fury. Every moment found it harder 
for the boys to drive their wincing ponies into the 
storm. Nearly half an hour passed before finally the 
big herd was rounded into a compact mass; but not 
until they had drifted more than a mile from the 
trail that led to the ranch. 

For nearly an hour more the boys battled with grim 
determination to head the herd toward home. But 
they stubbornly refused to face the blast at any angle, 
milling stupidly in their efforts to avoid the ponies’ 
repeated rushes and the stinging quirts, and finally 
racing out of the vortex, to lose for the desperate 
boys a dozen rods for each one they had hoped to 
gain. 

Time after time the riders sought to check the herd 
and force them against a quartering wind, charging 
round and round and slashing the mutinous leaders 
at every jump. But their efforts failed, for each time 
the bellowing mass broke away and dashed ahead in 
maddened frenzy. 


9 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Finally Kenneth, with tears of vexation in his eyes, 
beckoned to Arthur, and together they fell in behind 
the herd. 

‘Art,'' he admitted reluctantly, “we’re sirriply wast- 
ing time at this, wearing both the cattle and ponies 
out for nothing. We’ll miss the ranch three miles, 
so there's nothing to do but take our medicine." 

“Gee whizz, Kent!" exclaimed Arthur bitterly, 
“don’t you think that's expecting a little too much? 
This is no sand storm; it's winter and mighty close 
to freezing, if it is April." 

“Yes — and just the time of year when wolves and 
coyotes are hungriest; there's probably half a dozen 
watching us right now, waiting for some tired calf 
to lag behind. No, it's our fault we’re here, so we’ve 
got to drift with the herd and see that they don't pile 
up or have to face the wolves alone.” 

Arthur knew that his cousin’s decision was final, 
at least for himself. They drifted on in silence, 
muffling themselves as best they could against the 
cutting blast. After a few minutes Arthur spoke 
again, shouting above the roar of the storm. 

“Kent, this may last till morning. We can stay 
with the bunch to-day, but what about the night? 
What good can we do 'em then?” 

“I don't know. Art. I only know that I won't give 
up till I have to — ^and I think I can stick as long as 
the little calves." 


10 


THE DRIFTING HERD 


As Kenneth spoke a querulous, mournful howl 
broke out of the storm from the side; the answer came 
from close behind. 

“There ! That’s why we’ve got to keep these cattle 
bunched.” 

Arthur made no answer, but rode on beside his 
cousin. Twice, in lulls of the storm, both caught sight 
of dog-like shadows trotting' eagerly along at the side. 

Presently a lank, gray form flashed out of the cur- 
tain and shot past the rear of the herd, snapping 
viciously at a lagging calf. Three cows — ^mothers — 
whirled and charged in pursuit with bellows of rage. 
Ordinarily, that would have been the signal for the 
whole herd to surge to the rescue. But, already 
wrought to the point of frenzy by their forced milling 
and the fierce assaults of the boys, it was the signal 
needed to start a score of nervous leaders in a wild 
break ahead, ignorant of the cause of the commotion 
at the rear. Others followed in even a greater panic, 
pushing the leaders into a run. The calves, as fleet 
as their mothers, dashed among the charging cattle, 
bleating with terror. Then the three valiant mothers 
quitted their futile stand against the wolf, which had 
already vanished, and plunged bawling after the 
stampeding herd. 

Before the boys could fully realize what was hap- 
pening the cattle were swallowed up in the storm. 
Instantly they dashed in pursuit, thinking that a few 

II 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

rods would see the end. But nearly half a mile sped 
under their feet before the ponies could overtake even 
the first lame straggler. Far ahead the herd still 
bellowed in their mad, senseless race. 

‘‘Say, Art,” shouted Kenneth, “weVe got to break 
this up or the cattle will be scattered from here to 
the river. Come on, let’s get down to business and 
cut in ahead.” 

The eager ponies shot out and soon ran down a 
score of tiring stragglers — old calfless cows — ^and came 
up behind the herd. 

“We’ll get in front and worry the leaders down 
with our quirts. They’ll soon stop. You go ’round 
to the left and I’ll take the right. And look out for 
Satan’s Slide — we’re not going to miss her far.” 

It took the ponies several minutes to crawl up along 
the sides of the herd and reach the front. The boys 
began lashing the leaders back, while slowly crowding 
in ahead. They finally reached the van and swung 
cautiously across the front, striving fiercely to beat 
back the frenzied cattle with sharp, downward cuts 
at the noses crowding the ponies’ flanks. 

They raced madly* on for half a mile, speed un- 
diminished, with even the bronchos pushed nearly to 
their utmost. Kenneth was well to the left in front, 
and Arthur had dropped along the side to the east 
in an effort to cut in and check the blind push of the 
cattle in the rear. 


12 


THE DRIFTING HERD 


*‘The Slide ! The Slide ! Close to the left. Crowd 
’em west — quick!” 

As Kenneth shouted he swerved to the left, dropped 
along the side, and charged at the leaders, yelling, and 
lashing them furiously in a desperate effort to turn 
the herd to the west. Arthur instantly shot toward 
the front, he too striving to change their course. 

A second later they dashed into full view of the 
yawning slide, not thirty yards away. Kenneth had 
slightly changed the course of the leaders, but saw 
little hope that those in the rear would swing past 
the drop. So he dashed ahead, and cut in along the 
crest of the slope, shouting to Arthur to follow. But 
the cattle, too, had seen the yawning trap and suddenly 
changed their course with a mad bellow, doubling 
their speed, and surrounding Kenneth as he turned 
the curve and swept down the slope to safety. 

Hearing a sharp outcry, from far behind, he flashed 
one terrified glance backward in time to dimly see 
Arthur, his pony, and four steers shoot over the cliff 
in a swirl of snow. 


CHAPTER II 


PAST SATAN'S SLIDE 

O N, on he raced, sick with dread and unable to 
stop, for the steers had increased their 
frenzied speed and were closely packed 
around the horse and rider, bearing them resistlessly 
along. In desperate anxiety for Arthur, Kenneth 
strove a dozen times to weave his way to the edge 
of the seething herd. But the heavy bodies of the 
steers swept the pony along as though he had been 
but a yearling among them. 

Over half a mile, a mile, and still farther, they 
plunged blindly through the storm. The calves, their 
mothers, and the weaker animals had dropped out one 
by one, exhausted by the killing pace, until but half 
the herd remained. 

Finally these, too, spent and breathless, began to 
lag. Kenneth saw a chance to dash through an open- 
ing and off to the side. Instantly he whirled and 
lashed his unwilling pony back against the storm. 
Before half the distance had been fraversed Kenneth 
encountered four nervous, galloping gfeers, two of 

14 


PAST SATAN’S SLIDE 


them limping. Three minutes later he charged up to 
the foot of Satan's Slide. 

To his relief and utter astonishment, both Arthur 
and his pony were out on solid earth a few feet from 
the base of the slope, though almost enveloped by the 
dense cloud of white that swirled down from above. 
Arthur knelt in the snow beside his pony, examining 
the leg which Cap touched gingerly to the ground. 

‘Dh, Art,” cried Kenneth, throwing himself from 
his own horse, "‘aren't you hurt, at all ? And Cap — is 
his leg bad off — ^broken?'' 

“Just sprained, I guess — ^got tangled with one of 
those steers,” answered Arthur, rising. “What took 
you so long? Didn't you see us go over?” he de- 
manded, as if hurt that his cousin had forgotten him 
for the cattle. 

“I sure did — and I thought you'd be killed. But 
I couldn’t stop, for the stampede caught my horse 
and carried us more than a mile. Say, Art, how on 
earth did you manage not to get hurt ?” 

“I wasn't on earth,” retorted Arthur, laughing. 
“We came halfway down through the air — rolled and 
swam the rest. But I want to tell you, things hap- 
pened pretty lively for about five seconds. We shot 
over the edge and soared thirty feet without touching 
a thing. Then Cap landed astraddle a big steer, 
toppled over, and sent me flying twenty feet farther. 
I lit on my head and dove to my waist in that powdery 

15 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


stuff. I thought I was sure a goner, but managed 
to flounder out of the way just as two steers went 
rolling past me like balls of yarn. Then Cap went 
plunging and sliding along, like a kangaroo, on his 
haunches. As scared as I was, I lay there laughing 
till Cap and all four steers had got to the bottom.’’ 

‘‘Well, Art, it seems to be a sort of joke, after all — ' 
excepting Cap’s leg, which can’t be so very bad. Come 
to think it over, there wasn’t really much chance for 
a fellow to get hurt in that soft sand, so long as the 
herd didn’t pile in on top. But we’ve still got business 
ahead that isn’t a joke — the cattle. They’re scattered 
over two miles and are headed for the river, with the 
calves and cows tired out — ^just ready for the wolves,” 
finished Kenneth hastily. 

“And Cap is worse than useless,” said Arthur 
soberly, forgetting the incident just past. “What can 
we do ? It looks as though we’re up against a proposi- 
tion too big for us.” 

“It’s big, but as long as we’re to blame we can’t 
give up. We’ve got these cattle to bunch and watch 
if it means all day and night in the storm. You can 
turn Cap loose or tie him to a soap-weed — he’ll get 
along; the cattle are most important just now.” 

“But what can I do without a horse?” 

“You can take my horse and fly on ahead to where 
the leaders are and hold ’em while I bring the 
stragglers up on foot. We can’t turn anything back, 

i6 


PAST SATAN’S SLIDE 


but we can bunch and hold ’em — maybe. Hurry up, 
Art; time’s precious.” 

Without further delay the boys covered Cap se- 
curely with his saddle-blanket, and tied him to a tuft 
of sage. Then Arthur dashed on ahead, leaving 
Kenneth to bring up the rear. 

The storm had lessened in its fury, though more 
snow was falling, so that Kenneth could see but a 
few yards around him. He knew, however, that the 
cattle would drift along in each other’s tracks, 
deviating but little from the beaten trail. So he 
plunged into the blast, away from the protecting lee 
of the bluff, and struck back along the faint drift- 
covered trail. After battling breathlessly against the 
heavy gale, up the incline leading to the plateau above 
Satan’s Slide, Kenneth found no trace of loitering 
cattle, so turned and trotted swiftly with the wind. 

He had covered nearly half a mile before he came 
to the first of the stragglers — several cows with their 
little calves. He drove them forward at a smart trot, 
picking up others at short intervals, occasionally 
swerving off a few rods to the sides in quest of the 
more venturesome. Each time he caught glimpses 
of shadowy forms that slunk away into the storm. 
They were the wolves — waiting, waiting, waiting for 
some weary calf to lag a little too far behind. 

Suddenly, just when Kenneth felt certain that he 
could not be far from the main herd, a mad bellow 

17 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


broke through the storm from behind and far to the 
side. He knew instantly what it was : those patient, 
ghost-like forms had finally singled out some cow 
with her exhausted calf, cut them from the scattered 
column, and now had them at their mercy. Without 
a second’s hesitation Kenneth turned, and plunged 
once more against the blinding storm. 

The cow kept up her frenzied bellow of distress, 
and occasionally the terrified bleat of a calf pierced 
through the wind. Guided by these sounds, he drove 
straight toward the besieged pair with all his strength. 
When but a few rods away he heard with a choking 
sob one agonized bleat that broke sharply off, un- 
finished. He knew then that he was too late. 

On he dashed, until through the dense cloud of 
snow loomed the form of the cow as she whirled 
frantically, lunging first in one direction, then an- 
other. When Kenneth drew close, three long, lank 
wolves glided out of the circle and vanished silently 
into the storm. The cow stood astride a distorted 
clump of fur glaring defiantly at the newcomer; but 
instantly recognizing him, she dropped her nose to 
her throttled offspring with a moan of grief, every 
line of her quivering body giving voice to the agony 
of her defeat. 

Kenneth knew that, alone, he could not drive the 
cow from her calf, so turned and hurried back to the 
cattle. He overtook them nearly a mile beyond. 

i8 


PAST SATAN’S SLIDE 


Arthur was there, striving desperately to check the 
onward push of the herd. 

‘Tor goodness’ sake, Kent,” shouted Arthur when 
they met at the rear, “what can we ever do with this 
stupid bunch? We just passed that deserted shack 
of Conly’s, so we’re within a quarter of a mile of 
the river bluffs — and we don’t dare think what that 
means. What took you so long?” 

“Went back to save Silk’s calf — but they got him. 
Say, if ” 

“Another little duffer got dead tired back there 
and lay down in the snow,” interrupted Arthur, “so 
I just chucked him into the old shack and shut the 
door. I left the cow charging around outside.” 

“Good for you. Art; he’ll be safe enough till this 
is over. I wish we could do the same with all the 
rest. But say, if that was Conly’s you saw, we’re 
close to that long stretch of sand-fence the railroad’s 
got out here. If we can hit that, it’s our only chance 
to keep out of the river. Chase ahead quick. Art, 
and see how near we are.” 

Arthur dashed ahead and was back in less than 
two minutes with the report that the east end of 
the fence was within a hundred yards of their line 
of travel. 

“Then we can make it — we’ve got to!” shouted 
Kenneth eagerly, starting on a run toward the east 
side of the herd. “Give ’em fits. Art, and we’ll have 

19 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


’em crowded over before they know what we’re 
doing.” 

The cattle, weary and anxious for shelter, gave way 
before the boys, and soon came in sight of the shed- 
like structure. They trotted eagerly forward, expect- 
ing to hump themselves comfortably in the lee. This 
the boys prevented, for but a few yards lay between 
the fence and the sheer drop down to the roadbed, 
along which ran the first deep channel of the river. 
Soon they were all plowing reluctantly through the 
drift along the north of the fence. 

“Say, Kent,” suggested Arthur, “they’re going to 
pile up like a flock of sheep and before long we’ll 
have some trampled calves. Now I wonder why we 
can’t catch all the youngsters and chuck them into 
the A of this double fence?” 

“Art, that’s a bully scheme,” cried Kenneth, in- 
stantly reaching for his rope. “If we get the calves 
in there one of us can easily hold the herd while the 
other makes a dash to the ranch for help.” 

Within an hour the little fellows had been caught 
one by one and dragged or pushed bleating into the 
long, narrow pen. At the beginning, boards had been 
stripped from the top of the fence and both ends 
barricaded temporarily. After the last calf had been 
bundled in, Kenneth cut his rope into sections and 
bound these boards securely. 

This done, Arthur started on his hard five mile ride 


20 


PAST SATAN’S SLIDE 


to the ranch, by way of Satan's Slide, to look after 
Cap and, if possible, to lead him home. Kenneth 
settled down to strenuous guard of the herd, which 
strove constantly to break around the southeast end 
of the fence, and threatened often to trample those 
weary enough to lie down. Kenneth was desperately 
cold and weary, and the continuous blast of icy par- 
ticles had cut his face until it was raw. But he hung 
doggedly on, trotting steadily back and forth in front 
of the restless cattle, buoyed up by the certainty of 
help. 

Three hours later, Arthur, his uncle, and Shorty 
Wilson came galloping up, leading an extra pony. 

‘‘Did you think we were never coming?" shouted 
Arthur. “I found two wolves watching Cap, so I 
knew rd better take him home. It got pretty slow, 
but he made it." 

“Father," began Kenneth soberly, as he took the 
pony, “Fm to blame for all this. We’ve lost one 
calf — I’m awfully sorry ’’ 

“Tut, tut!’’ interrupted the old Scot, patting Ken- 
neth lustily on the shoulder. “No one is to blame 
for the herd’s striking off for the springs — and I’m 
proud of you boys for what no one else would have 
done. Come; we’ve still some hard work before 
us. Shorty, catch that one-horned leader and 
strike off for the ranch. We’ll see that the rest fol- 
low you." 


21 


CHAPTER III 


A CHANCE FOR SCHOOL 

T he next morning Cap’s leg was badly swollen, 
but seemed to be less painful than had been 
expected. After finishing the chores and odd 
jobs about the ranch, both boys turned their attention 
to the horse. They gave the limb a thorough massage, 
rubbing in witch-hazel and alcohol while the grateful 
pony, sensing the efforts for his comfort, patiently 
tolerated the painful handling of the two willing sym- 
pathizers. 

They were wrapping the last laps of a bandage 
when Mr. McGregor and Colonel Hanby rode up. 
The colonel was a big, jovial cattleman of unnumbered 
acres and steers and did little but mix genially with 
his neighbors. 

“Howdy, lads,” began the colonel, “I’ve been hear- 
ing great things about you this morning. Would you 
consider a proposition to look after my bunch of cows 
and let me fire my twenty men? Just name your 
price.” 

The boys reddened a little under Hanby’s banter, 
though they knew it was his way of offering praise. 


22 


A CHANCE FOR SCHOOL 


‘‘Well, boys,’^ said the older man, “Fve been over 
your trail this morning. With all the storm and ex- 
citement you lost but one calf yesterday in the stam- 
pede. You did well. We found the youngster, as 
you said, up in the shack — strong and lusty as a 
yearling.” 

‘"By George!” broke in the colonel, “I should say 
he was I When I pushed in the door the little duffer 
shot out between my legs and rode me six feet before 
I slid off on my head. Clever idea to tumble him 
in there — saved a blamed good calf. Mac, you should 
be proud of these youngsters for their job yesterday.” 

“I am proud of them, man,” replied McGregor; 
“don’t I know the lads serve me better than most men 
would do?” 

The boys were pleased by the praise and continued 
to blush uncomfortably. They got very busy with 
Cap’s bandages. 

“McGregor,” went on Hanby in the same en- 
thusiastic vein, “if I knew I could get just five men 
to be depended upon — absolutely, I’d fire my other 
fifteen in a minute. Understand, I’ve got good 
fellows, as riders go. But between their carelessness 
and the coyotes I lose one out of every five calves. 
Give most of my boys the same chance yours had 
yesterday, and I’d be dragging dead steers out of 
Satan’s Slide to-day.” 

“We didn’t do much. Colonel,” Kenneth managed 

23 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

to protest; '‘we just got up against a stiff proposition 
and saw it through, that’s all.” 

"That’s all, my boy, that’s all,” laughed the colonel 
— and he had grown bluffly serious. "Just a stiff 
proposition, and the spunk to see it through — that’s 
all. It isn’t much, but gad! what an army of us 
need that little! Ah, lads, the spunk, the grit, the 
nerve, to face the odds we meet is the stuff that 
counts.” The colonel blew his nose; he had an odd 
way of inspiring himself with his own voice. 

"By the way, Mac,” he called as the shiny black 
pranced out of the yard, "the boys found another 
calf of mine with Roarer Jones’ brand on. We’ll get 
that sneak yet. Has he tampered with any of yours ?” 

"I hardly think so, this year at least. Colonel,” 
replied Mr. McGregor. "Kenneth and Arthur keep 
pretty close tab on the stock. I have missed a number 
in the last year or two, though; I expect them to 
turn up finally across the divide.” 

Hanby stopped his horse and laughed dryly. "I 
wouldn’t bank much on that chance. I’ve lost a hun- 
dred head of two- and three-year-olds in the last five 
years, and my boys cover every foot of the range 
from the foothills to the Nebraska line. Just keep 
an eye open; we’ll land Jones some of these days.” 

That evening after supper was over, while the boys 
helped Mrs. McGregor with the dishes, the old ranch- 
24 


A CHANCE FOR SCHOOL 


man got out a pencil and figured studiously till they 
were all again seated about the dimly-lighted table. 

‘‘Boys, Tve been doing a bit of figuring — some 
ranch arithmetic,” he announced. “Both this year 
and last I’ve sold the feeders for a fancy price ; we’ve 
got a fine bunch of two-year-olds and eighty fine 
yearlings coming on. There’s just one more payment 
on the bottom land, due a year from this fall. It looks 
as though we can see our way out, if things go well 
this season and next. You boys have done your part, 
so I’m going to make you a sort of proposition. 

“Now, I know just how anxious you are to go to 
the high school in Sterling — and I know just how 
anxious I have been that you should have the op- 
portunity.” 

Both boys looked up expectantly; high school in 
Sterling had been a part of their dreams for three 
years — a dream denied by the demands of a busy 
ranch. 

“An average of one hundred calves for the two 
seasons — this and next — will put us out of the hard 
road we’ve traveled lately. 

“Now, if we have no bad luck, and prices keep 
up, I think we can pay off the mortgage and still 
feel able to hire a man for part of the year. Here’s 
my proposition: get our Circle Dot on two hundred 
calves for the balance of this season and the next; 
we’ll all strain every nerve to meet that payment; 

25 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


if we succeed, a year from this fall I’ll hire a man 
to help me, and you boys shall go to high school.” 

‘‘Bully for you. Uncle Jim! We can do that easy,” 
exclaimed Arthur. “The payment will almost take 
care of itself; as to calves: we have a hundred and 
ten chances this year and there’ll be more next. Why, 
we’ve got forty already and yesterday’s was the first 
one lost.” 

“We certainly ought to do better than that,” said 
Kenneth. “Don’t you think so. Father? We have 
a margin of ten for this year and will have fifteen 
or more for next, counting those heifers.” 

“Don’t be too certain, boys. A little bad luck may 
easily spoil our calculations. That payment must be 
met, without fail. To help out, you boys may have 
to look for work among the ranchers during dull 
months. Besides, the margin isn’t as much as you 
may think. I’ve done a little figuring and find that 
we saved just six out of every seven calves last year. 
I am asking you to bring in, this fall and next, eight 
out of every nine. You must be vigilant. There must 
none come in this year with Roarer Jones’ brand on.” 

Arthur had been perplexed ever since the last fall 
when a calf bearing the Jones’ brand had followed a 
McGregor cow in from the range, and had later been 
turned over to Jones. 

“But that calf was yours. Uncle Jim. How in the 
world could Jones claim it, even if his brand was 
26 


A CHANCE FOR SCHOOL 


on it? Didn’t that mean he simply stole the calf?” 

The old rancher smiled grimly. ‘Tt is one of the 
rules of the range that a calf belongs to the owner 
of the cow he follows, providing, of course, the calf 
is not already marked with a different brand; for it 
is well known by every cowboy that many a youngster, 
if lost and desperately hungry, will take up with the 
first good-natured cow — ^and many make no objection. 
There is good reason to believe that certain men 
take advantage of this rule and unnatural tendency 
in stock. It would be a simple matter to pick up a 
little calf, carry it to a distant corral, and when half- 
starved, turn it over to some old indifferent cow. Of 
course, no one is apt to question the ownership of the 
calf. Now, should that same chap, after he is branded, 
get back to his own mother it is assumed that he, in 
desperation, took up with the wrong cow. So you 
see how the rustler is doubly protected, for simple 
suspicion is a long way from proof. 

‘‘Some odd things happen as a result. It is not 
uncommon for a number of cows to be rounded up 
with twins ; as many that should be followed by lusty 
youngsters have none. You remember last summer 
when Tom Larrabe threatened to put a ‘45’ through 
old man Shelden? Tom claimed that he and one 
of the LF riders went through a bunch out on Cedar 
and found his old worn-out Jersey with a little yellow 
calf, just on his feet. That Jersey calf came in two 

27 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


months later following Bill Shelden’s black polled 
Angus. The cow had twins — one a black muley, the 
other a brindle — both with the Shelden brand. Tom’s 
cow came in alone. What could he do? He knew 
the calf was his, but it was trailing the other cow. 
The only way is to get there first and get a brand on 
your own calves.” 

James McGregor was one of thousands who, in 
earlier days, had taken up homesteads on the rolling 
plains almost in the shadow of the Rockies, hopeful 
of securing a home and a modest income. Continuous 
drought and the merciless storms of sand, which often 
dimmed the sun for days, had convinced them that 
the Great American Desert is not unwisely named: 
without refreshing waters it is indeed a desert. Ac- 
cordingly, those who had the courage to stay, or lacked 
the means to go, changed their homestead to a ranch. 

The McGregor homestead was but the gray, 
weathered landmark of ten years of slavery whereon 
the hopeful pair had sunk their best years and all 
their money. The eternal smile of the heavens had 
proved dangerously akin to the smile of one’s dearest 
enemy. Ten dreary, baffling years in an effort to drag 
sustenance from the earth in the face of that withering 
glare sapped the soil of nothing and robbed the Mc- 
Gregors of their faith and strength. At last, like a 
hundred others, they ceased the fight against relent- 
less nature and struggled to recoup their losses by 
28 


A CHANCE FOR SCHOOL 


gathering together a little herd of cattle. Another 
ten years of grinding hardship and they were enabled 
to purchase a plot of watered ground in the valley 
three miles below, sufficient to supply the stock with 
an abundance of winter feed. Grim frugality and 
vigilance — coupled with an integrity that brooked no 
temptation — were the enviable assets of the now gray- 
ing ranchman and his wife. 

McGregor measured his herd at first by tens and 
then by hundreds, rather than the thousands of the 
bigger men. True to the rigorous economy that had 
made success possible in a discouraging country he 
watched his cattle closely, never allowing them to 
scatter more than a few miles from their allotted 
range. Unlike the big cattlemen who rounded up and 
branded the calves once or twice a year, cutting out 
the feeders and marketable stock, he knew every calf 
that came and lost no time in clapping on a brand. 
On the other hand, the less watchful became a prey 
to those industrious rascals better known as ''rustlers.'' 
Many such with remarkable disregard for the possi- 
bilities of bovine reproduction have augmented a 
meager half-dozen cows so rapidly as to become sub- 
stantial stockmen in two or three years, much to the 
surprise and suspicion of their neighbors. Mc- 
Gregor was none of these and with them had no 
dealings. Himself a stern old Covenanter, he de- 
manded of his family and his friends rigid adherence 
29 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


to integrity; but he trusted few, consequently no calf 
of his wandered about the range half a year un- 
branded. 

Kenneth McGregor had become his father’s right- 
hand man. So much, in fact, was the son depended 
upon by his father, that practically the entire care 
of the growing herd had fallen upon his youthful 
shoulders. Trained in the grim school of a righteous 
battle against the odds of life the lad was not wanting 
in manhood, nor was he poisoned by his contact with 
the uncouth riders of the plains. Unlike many an- 
other western youth, Kenneth had no ambition to be 
a cowboy, with his ‘"Stetson,” “chaps,” and “45,^^ but 
longed for the day when his father’s success and a 
better schooling would end his days in the saddle. 
Nevertheless, he did his work well, assisting in the 
alfalfa fields and dodging back and forth with his 
Cousin Arthur to the summer range, six miles above, 
where for two-thirds of the year the cattle grazed. 
Months of school were sacrificed to necessity, but a 
brighter future promised better opportunities. 

The boys rode over their range weekly. The cows 
were never allowed to stray beyond certain limits, 
though hundreds of others mingled with them around 
the Springs. Every calf was looked for and but little 
time was lost in clapping on a brand. Sand and hail 
storms came under a vigilant eye as did the menacing 
coyotes, ever ready to pounce on some unprotected 

30 


A CHANCE FOR SCHOOL 


weakling. When the fall roundup took place the boys 
joined it, but only to gather in the scattered steers. 

Throughout the spring and summer the three bent 
to their work with a hearty will ; for the chance to test 
their mettle in a better school than the ungraded sod 
on Laramie Flats had long been the cherished dream 
of both the boys. Years before they had outstripped 
the capacity of the little school, but through the 
courteous interest of the earnest teacher, Molly Shan- 
non, they had been encouraged to push ahead into the 
mysteries of high-school work. Under her guidance 
they had been able to attend the entrance examina- 
tions at the county-seat and had passed with credit. 
Long hours into the night had made up for the 
months and years of systematic guidance that fortune 
had denied them. 

At intervals of a week or ten days one or both 
of the boys rode through the herd, cut out the mothers 
of new-born calves and swung over to the deserted 
shack where for convenience were kept the branding- 
irons. If the newcomer were not too young, or 
proved to be unusually weak, he was at pnce branded ; 
otherwise mother and calf were left there in the pro- 
tection of a tiny corral the McGregors had built, to 
await the next trip out. At the ranch, with the in- 
terrupted help of the boys, Mr. McGregor tended the 
hay in the valley and the few acres of forage still 
ventured on the homestead. 

31 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


As summer passed they all felt sanguine as to the 
season’s work. Of the one hundred and ten cows, 
eighty-two were fresh and eighty lusty calves cavorted 
at their mothers’ sides. One had been throttled by 
the wolves near Satan’s Slide; another was found by 
Arthur, near Devil’s Blowout, half-devoured by 
coyotes. A restless mother hovered over the mute 
clump of bone and fur, frantic and seemingly con- 
scious of her negligence in leaving her offspring under 
a tuft of secluding sage. Three cows gave no evidence 
that they would calve. Twenty-five more expected 
left a margin of five to make the season’s hundred; 
there seemed little doubt of a better result than had 
been hoped for by either father or the boys. 


CHAPTER IV 


BRUTE VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 

A MONTH or two after the thrilling experience 
at Satan’s Slide Kenneth and Arthur started 
out one morning on the usual run through the 
hills. They ambled leisurely along the trail past the 
incline, commenting on the experience and Cap’s un- 
easiness every time they approached the spot where 
he had been hurt. Arthur noticed that the white 
bones of the mangled calf, long since gnawed clean of 
flesh, had been lately scattered. 

^‘There’s been a coyote thrashing around among 
the dry bones since we were here last week,” he ob- 
served casually. 

‘'More likely a dog; a coyote won’t touch anything 
he’s once finished,” replied Kenneth, glancing down 
at the remnant of hide lying beside the trail. Some- 
thing prompted him to turn back; he dropped from 
his saddle and looked keenly at the torn, stiffened pelt. 
With a troubled face he called to Arthur who had 
ridden on. 

"Come back here. Art. Look at those fresh marks 
on that outer edge,” he commanded. 

33 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

Arthur dismounted and examined the hide. 

‘‘See anything queer?’' asked Kenneth. 

“Nothing, except that some dog or coyote must 
have been hungry to grind on that tough string. 
Why?” 

“See how far apart those fang marks are? Just 
half as wide again as any coyote’s would have been,” 
declared Kenneth. 

“A wolf, then,” exclaimed Arthur. 

“A wolf — and a hungry one, too. That’s the first 
of those big fellows I’ve seen any track of for a 
month. And look here. Art, that wolf was mighty 
hungry. If he was going south it means he missed 
the cattle up there — or he wouldn’t have been chewing 
this dried-up hide; if he was going north — as he most 
likely was — he would still have been hungry when he 
reached the herd. You know what that means; you 
know what these big fellows can do ! It means a calf 
or two throttled — maybe more.” 

Both had mounted and unconsciously were urging 
their ponies to a swift gallop. A few minutes brought 
them to the crest of the divide overlooking the pro- 
tected flat where the cattle grazed. Several cows 
standing dejectedly apart from the browsing herd 
told the story to Kenneth’s experienced eye. 

“Look, Arthur!” he cried, pointing. “The wolf’s 
been here. See those cows off there to the side? 
They’re guarding what’s left of their calves.” 

34 



With a troubled face he called to Arthur. ‘ Come back 
here, Art.’” 




BRUTE VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 


It took but a minute to dash down the slope. 

‘‘Heavens, Art! There's been more than one wolf 
here! One — ^two — three — four — seven cows off there 
alone ! And look over there ! Great Scott ! A ham- 
strung cow!" cried Kenneth in bewildered astonish- 
ment. 

They spurred their horses to the helpless cow. 

“H Eight — Colonel Hanby's. By George! I’m 
glad she isn’t ours — ^but I’m mighty sorry for the poor 
old brute. It takes more than one wolf to do a thing 
like that — cut a cow out of a big herd and hamstring 
her. They got her calf, too.’’ Kenneth pointed to 
a little form lying almost under the cow. 

“I’ll bet she made a pretty fight before they got 
her,’’ said Arthur in admiration of the mother who 
still flashed defiance from her eyes. 

“Let’s go back to the others. Art.’’ Kenneth’s voice 
was husky and he ignored his cousin’s reference to the 
probable struggle. “I hate to look for brands. Do 
you know what it means if those calves are ours?" 
he asked dully. 

At the near approach of the boys, four of the grief- 
stricken mothers charged frantically around the 
mangled forms of their offspring, bellowing madly. 
Several plunged threateningly toward the ponies — 
only for a few feet — then went back to their melan- 
choly posts. The remaining three hung their heads 
dejectedly over the lifeless treasure at their feet. No 
35 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


human in the ecstasy of grief could transcend the 
mute appeal in the wan-eyed, tear-stained countenance 
— countenance is the word — of each of those bereaved 
brute mothers. 

A glance, and the story was savagely told. The 
two boys looked at each other in silent dismay. There 
were tears in their eyes — ^tears of bitterness for this 
vicious blow at their hopes; tears of compassion for 
the all but human, helpless misery before them. As 
if in sympathy the two ponies stood silent and sub- 
dued for a long time, waiting for some signal from 
their masters. 

Finally Kenneth spoke. 

^‘One JB, one Open Box Two, five Circle Dots,’’ 
he counted slowly. “Gracious, Art ! Doesn’t it 
squeeze you all up inside to see those dumb, innocent 
brutes?” 

Arthur could scarcely speak; the sight was new to 
him. He choked as he replied. 

“Puts a clamp on your vitals, all right. I can’t 
get a full breath, it hurts so. Say, Kenneth, don’t 
you suppose a brute has about the same feelings in- 
side that a human has? The only difference is, they 
can’t shout it all over town when they’re hard hit. 
Say, old man, it may be a streak of yellow cropping 
out, but I’m afraid I’ll think of this the next time I 
go out with a gun or — or kick my horse.” 

36 


BRUTE VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 


Kenneth replied absently; he seemed not to have 
heard. 

“Eight of the innocent little duffers at one clip. By 
ginger! I’d like to pull down my ‘30-30’ on those 
big, gray devils. I’m afraid they’ve fixed us so far 
as school next winter is concerned; they’ve wiped 
out every bit of this year’s margin.” 

“Gee!” exclaimed Arthur, “I’d most forgot that 
part of it. They got us two ways — ^killed the calves 
and strangled our prospects for a year in high school. 
Oh, well, Ken, maybe we’ve got a little show yet; 
we’ve got a chance to make it up next summer.” 

“I want a whack at those wolves. Art — ^they may 
come back. I’m going to the ranch to get the poison. 
I’ll fix every varmint that sets teeth in these carcasses. 
While I’m gone you ride over to Colonel Hanby’s 
and tell him about the cow; he may want her for beef 
— anyway she ought to be out of her misery.” 

“Look out you don’t put poison where those cows 
can lick it,” called back Arthur as they rode apart. 

“I’ll see to that,” said Kenneth. 

Mr. McGregor nodded gravely when they told him 
the story that night. “Too bad. Too bad. That’s a 
serious problem we’ve got to face. If we had all 
the stock the wolves have killed for me in the last 
ten years we’d be rich. A few raids take a big slice 
of the season’s profits. That’s one thing I had hoped 
to guard against somewhat, boys, when I made you 
37 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


the proposition for school. Did you put strychnine 
on all those old carcasses above the Springs, as I 
suggested? No? Well, that precaution might help 
to prevent things like this, for you know how sus- 
picious those vandals are. A few traps and a little 
poison soon make them wary and they give such 
things a wide berth. I'm sorry you did not see ahead. 
Perhaps you will profit by the experience and come 
out better next year. 

‘‘Remember, the outcome means as much to me as 
it does to you. If I had my way you should be pre- 
paring for college now, instead of high school. But — 
well, many things have come hard in the last twenty 
years — for all of us." 

There was a suspicious dimness in the old man's 
eyes that suggested the shattered hopes, baffled ambi- 
tions that he might once have had — hopes and ambi- 
tions he held now for his boys. Kenneth saw, and 
understood; for he, too, had borne his part of the 
years of struggle — ^valiantly and uncomplaining. 


CHAPTER V 


WITH ROPE AND IRON 

A nother month's work brought somewhat of 
encouragement. A dozen more little fellows 
came and were duly branded. Kenneth’s 
poison, adroitly placed, got in its work on three 
coyotes — ^how many more they had no means of 
knowing; several traps scattered about the margin of 
the flats, in protected spots, served to warn away the 
vandals, though they were far too wary to be caught. 
The wolves did not return; it was characteristic of 
the brutes to strike hard — rarely, and in places far 
apart. There had been a day when they were a 
greater menace, but poison, traps, and the great wolf- 
hounds that were fast coming to be an essential part 
of many ranches, with the added incentive of a liberal 
state bounty on the scalps, had done much to thin 
the vandals out. Another calf or two straggled along 
in the next few days. There remained but ten more 
cows to calve. The boys were hopeful, for to secure 
the hundred in spite of the big raid meant a good 
outlook for the next year. 

“Let’s carry the irons along after this, Kenneth,” 

39 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


suggested Arthur one morning as they saddled up; 
‘‘the calves will be scattered out one at a time till 
roundup; it won’t pay to drive them over to the 
shack. We can build a jolly fire of ‘chips’ and brand 
the little duffers right where we find ’em.” 

Kenneth thought the idea was a good one, so they 
rode past the cabin for the markers and then on to 
the herd. When they reached the Springs they 
found one of the cows with a white-faced, white- 
stockinged calf — ^just born and too young to brand. 
During the forenoon a light drizzle set in, so they 
circled around for a look at the traps and went 
home. 

The next trip out failed to find either the white- 
faced calf or his mother. 

“Where can they be?” queried Arthur. 

“Hiding, likely,” replied Kenneth without anxiety. 
“She’s gone up the creek and hid him under a clump 
of sage-brush. She’s one of those worn-out milkers, 
and the biggest fool that ever happened. They’ll 
be back in a day or two when the youngster gets big 
enough to frisk around.” 

The boys made a careless search through the hills 
close in without result. 

A week later the cow was back — alone. This time 
they were both worried. 

“It’s one of two things,” decided Kenneth finally; 
“wolves or rustlers.” 


40 


WITH ROPE AND IRON 


'That cow's mighty thin," observed Arthur. '*See 
how nervous and restless she is," he added, noting 
that she wandered around through the herd nosing 
every calf she approached. 

'Tretty good sign her calf's gone for good. I guess. 
Art, we're out. That cuts off our chance for this 
year," said Kenneth, disheartened by the loss. 

‘‘Let's make a good hunt for him, Kenneth," pro- 
posed Arthur. “We may find what’s left and know 
at least what happened." 

“No use," said Kenneth dejectedly. “When a cow 
gives up her calf it means he's gone for good. There 
won’t be much satisfaction in finding a little piece of 
fur." 

“But maybe that isn’t what happened ; a rustler may 
have got him.” 

“Not likely. They all know we’re watching close. 
It’s the big fellows like Colonel Hanby — those who 
don’t see their cattle only at roundup time — that the 
rustlers are after. Look at this bunch here. Fifty 
unbranded calves mixed with ours. No, Art, I think 
she hid her calf and a coyote got him. That would 
end it.” 

“I think you’re wrong there, Kenneth," contended 
Arthur. “If you’re right that cow wouldn’t be nosing 
around here looking for the little chap. She’s lost all 
track of him — and she’s thin like she’d traveled miles. 
Kenneth, he’s been stolen. Some rustler has thrown 

41 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


him over his saddle and carried him off. The old 
mother followed till they threw her off the trail. 
Then she's wandered around to every bunch she saw, 
looking for him — and she’s looking yet. By George ! 
if we look around we’ll find him, I’ll bet on that.” 

Kenneth finally admitted the likelihood of his 
cousin’s conclusion, and caught a little of his spirit 
He knew, however, that the quest was useless, so far 
as satisfactory results were concerned : if the calf had 
been already branded, as was likely the case, they 
could not prove their claim, no matter whose cow he 
followed; if he was not yet branded they would not 
find him — ^that he knew. In accordance, however, with 
Arthur’s suggestion, they spent the day scouring the 
hills through a radius of a dozen miles. They went 
to every ranch, and inspected every bunch of cattle 
along Spring and Cedar Creeks and even ventured 
out toward the Buttes above. The search was futile 
and a curt command from Roarer Jones to '‘clear out” 
as they rode casually by his corrals depressed them. 
They gave up the quest and swung in past the Springs 
again on the way to the ranch. There they found 
another calf. This time Kenneth took the two over 
to the tiny board corral back of the cabin. After 
feeding the cow generously from the little supply of 
hay, often brought there for just such emergencies, 
and filling the half-barrel from the creaking well, the 
lads went home. 


42 


WITH ROPE AND IRON 


A week before the usual fall roundup the boys made 
their last trip to the Springs. It was three days after 
the search. 

“Well, Art,” said Kenneth, “this ends it, till the 
roundup. We’ll find the one at the shack and probably 
another at the Springs; there may not be any more 
till the herd comes in.” 

“We’ve had pretty fair luck except for that beastly 
raid,” replied Arthur. “The little white-face may turn 
up yet — I could tell him in China; remember that 
funny streak that ran down below his eyes? Made 
him look like a tiger. If we don’t lose any more 
we’ll only fall one below the mark, after all. We can 
just do one better next year, and we’re all hunk-a-dory 
for high school next fall, eh, Kent?” 

Then, as they rode along, they fell to discussing 
plans and the coming four months of school in the 
little sod over on Laramie Flats — a concession granted 
yearly by Mr. McGregor, though even that brief 
period often wrought hardship at the busy ranch. 
Castles builded easily, and they rambled on to high 
school, a year away; finally, came hints of college, 
too, distant and unreal, however, to be convincing. 
Kenneth had read and dreamed of great schools where 
were trained leaders of men; his knowledge stopped 
with this. He had seen but one college man and he 
had seemed so austere and unapproachable that the 
life he represented to the boy slipped farther into the 
43 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


dim vista of unrealities. Nevertheless, like thousands 
of other climbers, Kenneth secretly ached for the 
chance that might never come. At times his hope 
became an obsession; he felt on the point of rebelling 
at his father’s seeming restrictions — in the last five 
years he had missed more than half the months of 
even the weak little school on Laramie Flats. But 
Kenneth had never faltered. The demands of an 
interminable succession of busy days claimed his 
honest effort, if not his undivided heart. To Arthur 
such things meant less ; he had grown up in the city. 

When they reached the fork where the trail divided, 
one path leading toward the deserted shack, the other 
past Devil’s Blowout to the Springs, Kenneth sug- 
gested that they go to the cabin and brand first the 
calf left there three days before ; they could then take 
the irons with them to the herd. When they reached 
the last hill overlooking the lonely place Arthur turned 
to Kenneth with consternation in his face. 

‘Look, Ken! The corral gate’s wide open!” he 
cried. 

“The deuce! That’s right — and of course they’ll 
both be gone. Why, I’d swear I wired that gate,” 
declared Kenneth. 

“We sure did,” agreed Arthur; “I remember we 
got the wire out of that little pile of hay. The old 
heifer must have got restless and broke out. Maybe 
44 


WITH ROPE AND IRON 


the water didn’t last. She’d go right back to the 
herd, though, wouldn’t she?” 

‘‘Yes — if she could,” replied Kenneth as they 
galloped down the slope. “I’m afraid. Art, it didn’t 
happen that way.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Arthur, noticing 
a queer look on his cousin’s face. “Certainly nobody 
would steal that calf after we had seen it and put 
it in the corral.” 

“He’d have a brand to prove his story, no matter 
what we could show,” replied Kenneth. 

By this time they had ridden up to the empty corral. 
The wire had been untwisted. They stood for a 
moment and stared ruefully at the gate. Hay and 
water had been scarcely touched. 

“Well, Art,” said Kenneth with a dismal smile, 
“that’s another chunk out of our average. If we 
don’t fare better next season ” 

At the Springs they found that the cow had not 
joined the herd; but there was a new calf, a big active 
fellow that must have come shortly after the last 
trip out. 

“We’ll get this one, anyway, old man,” said Arthur 
with a feeble attempt at jocularity. “He doesn’t seem 
to be branded.” 

They dropped their reins and the ponies stood im- 
movable. A fat pile of “chips” was gathered and a 
brisk fire started. 


45 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


A purple haze hung over the border of their green- 
swept circle ; not a breath stirred, and the smoke rose, 
a gray spiral, to melt deep in the azure curtain above. 
Off to the northwest, mirrored in the sky by the 
morning mirage, loomed the massive walls of Lewis 
Canon, fifty miles away. The boys sat on the grass 
with crossed legs waiting, while the color slowly tinged 
the irons nestled in the glowing coals. 

After a long silence Arthur turned to his cousin, 
a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

‘After all, old man, what's the use ? Can you beat 
this sort of life? Can a dozen years of school give 
us anything better ?" He was buoyant with the balmy 
freshness of the frost-tinged morning, for the plains 
seemed like a mighty playground. 

“Perhaps not, Arthur," was the dreamy answer, 
“but it seems to me the sky would be bluer, the grass 
greener, those old canons over there look grander, 
if we knew a little more. If we could just see out — 
see what’s above and beyond all this — ^that’s what 
could make this sort of life seem more worth while. 
It’s not so much the different work, or a different 
life, I care about, but it’s the getting out what’s in it. 
You can’t do that and be an ignoramus.’’ 

Arthur laughed carelessly. 

“That’s all true, I suppose. But don’t you know it’s 
always the smart fellow who’s stirring up things — 
can’t be contented with anything, no matter how well 

46 


WITH ROPE AND IRON 


other people may be satisfied? Look at Evans, now. 
Wants to convert the cowboys and stop work Sun- 
days. Why, they all laugh at him.*^ 

‘All the same. Art, the good things come just that 
way — ^because somebody’s got the spunk to fight the 
rotten ones. It took a few rounds in jail to con- 
vince some of the cowboys that it isn’t the grandest 
thing in the world to ‘paint the town red’ every time 
they go in. It cost some broken heads, too. I say 
it’s the deadhead that is contented to let things drift ; 
you’ll notice, though, that he howls the loudest when 
he’s hit. I think that’s about what Colonel Hanby 
meant when he talked to us the day after that big 
storm.” 

By this time the irons were hot. Kenneth jumped 
on Bob, snapped the kinks from his lariat, then 
slipped out the noose as he rode along. Singling out 
the new calf he gave Bob the rein. The well-trained 
pony nosed behind the frightened youngster, anticipat- 
ing every frantic turn by a quicker move till he had 
cut him from the herd, then swerved him like a terri- 
fied antelope straight off to the side. Bob now slipped 
along close to the left. Kenneth’s rope was ready; 
with a sharp overhand swish or two he shot the loop 
downward over the calf’s side, releasing but a scant 
six feet from the coils in his left hand. The majestic 
swirl of a noose about his head, then the spiral sweep 
of forty feet of rawhide riata as it drops gracefully 
47 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


and unerringly over the head of some victim was 
absent from Kenneth’s style, as it is from every cow- 
boy’s when he is not posing for a crowd. Close to 
the left of the animal, one or two flashing, vertical 
snaps of the ample noose, and it is literally slapped 
downward over the head or around the legs; ofttimes 
but a coil or two is released. 

The calf let out a single abbreviated bleat as the 
rope tightened and flipped his hind legs from the 
ground. Bob instantly turned sedately toward the 
spiral of smoke, the calf dragging behind. The boy 
leaped from his saddle, leaving the pony to bear into 
the rope just enough to keep it taut; he grabbed the 
calf by a bent foreleg and turned the sweating muzzle 
up. Arthur leaped toward them with the glowing 
iron. 

Not another sound escaped the victim till the thick, 
pungent smoke rolled up, and the iron bit into the 
flesh. Then a succession of agonized bleats brought 
the whole herd running. 

‘‘She’s cherry. Art — that’s good,” said Kenneth; he 
brushed a calloused hand over the indented Circle Dot 
as Arthur lifted the rod. 

Another moment and the branded calf was released 
to plunge away in terror, followed by his mother and 
a score of sympathizers. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE ROUNDUP REVEALS A RUSTLER 

T he next week the big cattlemen began their 
usual fall roundup. A dozen groups of cow- 
boys scattered over the range, exploring 
every swale and draw for the herds radiating from 
every water-hole. The careful scrutiny for familiar 
brands, an occasional hog-tying of some long-haired 
steer whose marks were illegible at the casual glance, 
generally resulted in the swinging of the entire herd 
toward the common center, where feeders and market- 
able steers were cut out and started toward their re- 
spective ranches. The smaller owners had, many of 
them, already branded their calves, but, for the sake 
of gathering in everything for the winter, joined the 
roundup as the McGregor boys had done; as a result 
there were few of the cattle found that did not fall 
into the converging streams. 

Kenneth and Arthur, though younger than most of 
their companions, took the parts of men in the days 
of activity. There were days of thrilling work, nights 
of joyous sleep under silent, frosty stars, intoxicating 
49 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


them with the elixir of a boundless life in the open. 
They tended fires, carried smoking irons, roped and 
branded big and little mavericks, wrestling manfully 
with the piston-like legs that sometimes fell to their 
lot. They took their turns and spent long nights with 
the restless herd; they even had a chance at taming 
nervous bronchos when the wrangler took to his 
blankets with a nasty kick on the thigh. 

McGregor rode out toward the last and helped for 
a day or two. Some of the smaller outfits, taking a 
chance that their herds were complete, had already 
gone, driving ahead what stock was ready for market 
or pen and leaving the hardy steers to winter on the 
range — this last a practice common to the big stock- 
men and those among the homesteaders forced by 
poverty to so do. A few stragglers still came in from 
distant canons and across the divide. There was an 
occasional calf singled out that had escaped a brand. 
Among these was one following a McGregor cow that 
had wandered away early in the season and, by some 
chance, had been forgotten. 

Arthur discovered the little fellow, roped and 
dragged him to the fire, and signaled to Kenneth to 
bring the Circle Dot iron. Since the iron had not 
been in use during the roundup it was some time be- 
fore Kenneth could get it hot. A number of the 
cowboys, including Roarer Jones, stood idly looking 
on, for there was little left for them to do ; the roundup 

50 


ROUNDUP REVEAUS A RUSTLER 


was about to break, delaying only for several boys 
who had not yet come in with a few belated strays. 

The bleating calf had been flopped on his left side; 
McGregor branded on the left so Arthur, who held 
the victim's head, seized an under leg and turned him 
over. Kenneth rail with the iron, but just as it 
touched the hair he jerked back with an exclamation 
of surprise. 

‘"Why, he's branded already. Father! See that." 

‘‘Impossible, son. It must be a wire mark," said 
McGregor, leaning over the calf. Arthur traced his 
finger along well-defined marks that were somewhat 
obscured by the wrinkles in the side of the writhing 
animal. 

“He's right, Uncle," said he. “See here. I — I — ^J, 
double I J. Why, that's Mr. Jones' brand." 

The boys crowding around stepped back as Mc- 
Gregor straightened up and looked questioningly at 
Jones. 

“Well," laughed the big ranchman, “you came 
within an ace of blotting my brand, didn't you, Mac? 
Good thing the kid has sharp eyes ; I didn't notice that 
calf was branded, myself," he went on carelessly. 
“Oh, well, what if you had? I guess we all know 
Mac, don't we, boys?" He turned laughingly to the 
expectant group. “I'd have had to fight McGregor to 
keep him from squaring his mistake twice over." 

51 


I 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


McGregor looked steadily at the speaker and for a 
moment did not reply. 

''Roarer/' he began at last, deliberately, "you've 
got your brand on my calf." 

A dozen cowboys paused, waiting for the outcome; 
Kenneth and Arthur both caught their breath in dread. 
To openly accuse Roarer Jones of rustling was an 
act of reckless courage. He was known to be a 
dangerous man to affront; then, too, though it was 
common talk that his herds had grown unreasonably 
fast, no one had absolute proof that Roarer or his 
sons had ever actually stolen cattle — their methods had 
hitherto defied discovery. 

McGregor’s tense, quiet voice and the deep-set 
gleaming eye that held steadily to Roarer’s showed 
no trace of the fear that the surprised men felt for 
him. It was plain from the old Scot’s look that he 
was waiting for an answer to his implied question-— 
and no careless explanation would suffice. 

A fleeting gleam of anger and an almost imper- 
ceptible jerk of his right hand toward his hip — ^both 
remnants of an earlier lawless life — and the rough, 
old plainsman broke into a boisterous laugh. 

"Say, Mac, you must be sore because you end the 
roundup without branding a calf for every cow you’ve 
got. I didn’t either — not by a long ways. Or maybe 
you’re springing a little joke. How about it?" 

52 


ROUNDUP REVEALS A RUSTLER 

McGregor replied evenly; his steady eyes still did 
not waver from the face of Jones. 

don’t joke that way, Roarer; and I repeat: 
you’ve got your brand on my calf. It needs an ex- 
planation or — reparation.” 

The accused ranchman’s assumed good nature ex- 
panded. He winked at the boys crowding around the 
br indie calf still held by Arthur. 

‘‘Come now, McGregor, don’t get sore over a little 
thing like this. Anybody knows a calf gets lost once 
in a while and takes up with the wrong cow — even 
after he’s branded. Besides, just because a brindle 
calf chases off with your old Jersey is no proof the 
youngster’s yours. I’ve got brindle cows, too. I 
don’t always wait for the roundup to brand my calves, 
either. 

“But a measly little calf doesn’t mean anything to 
me; I’d rather give him to you than see you sore. 
Burn over my brand, kid,” he commanded, “and slap 
on your Circle Dot; you can have the little duffer.” 
Jones waved a magnanimous hand and turned away, 
as if to dismiss the trivial affair. 

Roarer’s grand show of a universal good will and 
a ilumber of such generous acts had completely dis- 
armed many of the boys. But not so with McGregor; 
he was a reader of men, and though usually silent as 
to his opinions, he rarely erred in the measure of his 
fellows. 


53 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


He waved Kenneth away, who had again brought 
the iron from the fire. 

don’t want the calf. Roarer — the first brand 
counts. But I want you to know this; you’re not 
fooling me with your cleverness. You’ll get your 
brand on the wrong calf just once too often.” 

It had been much for the usually taciturn Scotch- 
man to say. To the listening boys it could mean only 
ultimate trouble. The last shot told, and, though Jones 
seemed to have been the less discomfited of the two, 
into his eye came again the dangerous gleam — and he 
turned away to hide it. 

‘'Give ’em the calf, boys; slap on your iron, kid. 
I’ll show the crowd I’m square,” was his final word 
as he strode away. 

McGregor motioned the hot iron away and pulled 
the rope from the calf’s hind legs. Arthur reluctantly 
freed the upturned head and got up. The trembling 
little victim leaped to his feet and plunged into the 
flanks of his anxious mother. Strangely, the young- 
ster was nearly a replica of the cow he followed. The 
cow bore McGregor’s brand; the calf. Roarer’s. 

During the two remaining days of the roundup 
neither man referred by word or deed to the un- 
pleasant affair. Another calf picked up under similar 
circumstances, though the cow in this case belonged 
to the big L F ranch running with a different outfit, 
served to intensify in the quiet Scot and his boys an 
54 


ROUNDUP REVEALS A RUSTLER 


already deep antipathy against the crafty rustler. The 
final discovery of the lost tiger- faced calf, again 
marked with the Jones' brand, wrought the boys to 
fever heat. 

“Why, I'd know that calf in Turkey," expostulated 
Arthur. “Just look at the funny face those stripes 
give him, Uncle, and see if you’d ever forget him, 
yourself." He was bent on again accusing Jones 
and of proving to the doubtful cowboys that they had 
put the calf in the old corral. 

“No, boys, we’ll just lie low. There's no doubt 
that Jones has been getting our calves right along, 
so the best thing to do is to watch for better evidence. 
I’m a little sorry I spoke as I did the other day; it 
will likely serve only to put him on his guard. Just 
say nothing about this to anyone," was McGregor’s 
caution. 

“Roarer" Jones — a name acquired from earlier 
populistic fervor — and his four boys possessed a mag- 
nificent ranch embracing an inexhaustible spring back 
in the hills under cover of Pawnee Buttes. For some 
reason — for long an act without ostensible excuse — 
Jones had announced several years before that the 
profits were gone from ranching, since the advent of 
the dry- farming homesteader; he had concluded, there- 
fore, to give up the extensive scale of previous years. 
Two of the boys moved down into the river town of 
Sterling, where they set up a meat-shop, supplying 
55 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


their blocks from the ranch where Roarer and his two 
younger sons still lived. After a time they built up 
a considerable wholesale trade, supplying much of the 
meat to the small neighboring towns and not a little 
to the Denver market. 

For some years the roundups had revealed condi- 
tions that were anything but satisfactory to the better 
class of ranchmen. Every season found a number of 
steers missing absolutely ; and numerous expected 
calves never augmented herds where they belonged. 
Still many others came in with brands they should not 
have borne, according to the suspicion of observant 
claimants. Among the few suspected was Roarer 
Jones. But proof was lacking, so the growing senti- 
ment against him had been the extent of his dis- 
favor. 

The last day of the roundup, after the cattle had 
been separated and were on the way to their respective 
ranches, Jones rode up to McGregor as he and the 
boys trailed behind the straggling herd. Though the 
boys rode well to the sides, they could see every 
move and hear every word of the suppressed voices. 

‘Well, Mac,” sneered Jones, “think your bluff stuck 
with the boys the other day? Struck me I showed 
you up like a stingy Ike instead of the pious duck 
you pose for.” 

“That was no bluff, Roarer,” replied the old man 

56 


ROUNDUP REVEALS A RUSTLER 


quietly, ‘*but I don’t need to tell you so — ^you know. 
We’re not done yet.” 

“Bluff or not, do you think I’m going to let it 
pass?” snarled Jones. 

“I have no intention of letting it pass myself; I 
didn’t make it carelessly.” 

“Do you mean you’re going to fight — me f 

“I’m fighting no one, personally; it’s the rustler I’m 
after. If that applies to you ” 

Both boys, following with bated breath and thump- 
ing hearts, saw the old rustler’s hand drop to the 
holster on his saddle. 

“Don’t call me a thief again, McGregor; you’ve 
done that once already — and once too often,” snarled 
Jones. 

With choking gasps of terror both boys instinctively 
turned and rode toward McGregor, slowly, fascinated 
by a dreaded outcome they had no power to check. 

They saw a disdainful hand waved at Jones and 
his threat. 

“Come, come. Roarer! gun bluffs don’t go now- 
adays, any more than rustling will be tolerated. 
When it comes to the real show-down, men don’t bluff 
with a gun — and they don’t fool with cattle- thieves.” 

Muttering angrily Jones turned his horse away. 

“It’s not all bluff, McGregor,” he called back. 
“When a man mixes with me, I break even — always, 
remember that.” 


57 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


The boys rode up with drawn, anxious faces. 

“Oh, Father! I thought — I was sure ” began 

Kenneth. 

“Tut, tut! It's nothing," laughed the unperturbed 
old man. “He won’t do any harm — ^that way; but the 
stock will suffer after this. That’s my greatest 
worry." 


CHAPTER VII 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 

W ITH the advent of fall the boys found their 
duties lighter, so turned their thoughts to 
school work — to begin later and to run 
through the three or four winter months usually 
allotted to them at the little sod schoolhouse on 
Laramie Flats. There was much to be done yet about 
the ranch, however, to finish the summer work and 
to prepare for the winter. The alfalfa was to be 
irrigated before water was turned out of the big 
ditch ; the winter's supply of hay was to be hauled up 
from the valley — a job that would require the fair 
days for more than a month. All the sheds and feed- 
racks needed repairing and a thousand little tasks 
clamored — tasks that only a ranch can create. Mr. 
McGregor went east with a car of feeders and left 
the boys alone with the work. 

Since the windmill could not always supply water 
for the whole herd, it was necessary to take some of 
the younger stock to the alfalfa stubble, which made 
forage through the greater part of the winter. It 
59 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


was imperative, however, that these cattle be looked 
after daily — a task that the father assumed when the 
boys began school. By strenuous work Saturdays the 
big racks were filled with hay sufficient to last through 
the week. 

The first of November they began their studies at 
Laramie Flats. Molly Shannon, the alert, bright-eyed 
girl who had taught the school for several years, wel- 
comed the big lads with as much enthusiasm as for 
the little tot beginning his primer. For three years 
she had coached her two ambitious pupils far beyond 
the limits of her course of study. So encouraged was 
she with the results of her tutorage, that two years 
previously she arranged with the principal of the high 
school at Sterling to permit the boys to attempt the 
entrance tests into the first year above the grades. 
They both passed most successfully. The following 
spring they in like manner qualified for entrance to 
the tenth grade. Now they were working toward the 
junior year. It meant four grilling months — ^both for 
the boys and the girl teacher, scarce older than them- 
selves. 

But their hearts were all with their work; long 
nights that reached far into the morning hours, oft- 
times, were a strenuous, sesame that opened doors 
denied to many a more favored youth. So keenly, 
however, did the boys realize the advantage that two 
full years in a real high school would give them they 
6o 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


had for months importuned Mr. McGregor to, in some 
way, arrange it. 

For him times had been hard; a heavy mortgage 
hung over the thrifty herd as well as over the land 
in the valley. But several successful years had cleared 
the burden from the stock and opened the way ahead. 
Could they but do as well for two more seasons, he 
promised the boys, they should attend the school in 
Sterling. It was imperative that the four months he 
allowed them in the Laramie school be made the 
equivalent of a year in the larger school — a heavy 
condition, but one, reasoned the old man, that would 
be an infallible test of their ambition. 

With the ardor that only he whose limitations 
and restrictions are infinitely great can realize, Ken- 
neth plunged into his work — as he had done, too, each 
year before. Arthur had come to the ranch from 
Chicago with the advantage of one year of school, 
but, after one listless term, he was swept along by his 
cousin’s contagious energy. 

**Molly,” said Kenneth one day to his teacher, with 
blunt simplicity — she was ‘‘Molly” to even the veriest 
tot — “Molly, you’re sure a dandy girl: you spend 
hours and hours helping us big hulks over rough 
places when you know you don’t need to do a bit of 
it. If it hadn’t been for you I know I’d still be wrest- 
ling with stickers in Ray’s Practical — and here I am 

6i 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


construing the fourth book of Csesar and doing sums 
in quadratics.” 

Molly blushed prettily as she closed her old Latin 
text from which Kenneth and Arthur had studied. 

‘‘Fm glad you think I'm to blame,” she laughed; 
“but I am actually ashamed of the nine months every 
year I spent in high school when I compare it with 
what you boys are doing. No, really, Kenneth, Fm 
sure you would do the work if you hadn't a particle 
of help — ^you're that kind, I guess.” 

“But think of that measly bridge across the Rhine, 
and that other bridge — what do you call it? — pons 
asinorum, the ninth power, and a hundred other places 
where I was stuck.” 

“Pshaw, boy! You would have done them, every 
one, with©ut my help. Perhaps I saved you a little 
time, that's all,” deprecated the modest girl. 

“By the way, Kenneth,” she went on, “I saw Pro- 
fessor Robertson yesterday in town. He is much 
interested in you boys. He thinks it would be a fine 
thing for you to take the monthly tests of the tenth 
grade. It will give you a much better idea of the 
work and help you to grasp some of the harder prop- 
ositions that are likely to appear in the finals. Do 
you think you can go?” 

‘‘Say, that will be great,” exclaimed Kenneth. 
“But do you think it worth while? Do you think we 
can pass next spring? This tenth grade work is 
62 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 

mighty stiff compared with last year's. There’s so 
many little things that we miss digging them out 
ourselves — little things that don’t mean much alone 
but when they’re bunched they count. They’re sure 
to crop out in the exams.” 

‘T’m sure you can pass, both of you, especially if 
you can keep in touch with these monthly tests. I’ll 
help you all I can.” 

‘‘That’s you, again, Molly : always offering to carry 
us along. I tell you, girl ” 

“Tut, tut! Go home now, and review the first two 
books of Caesar, brush up on the gerund and gerun- 
dive, radicals, and run over English history up to the 
War of the Roses. Be sure to ask your father to let 
you take those tests. They come Fridays; you can 
run down there instead of coming over to Laramie 
to study.” 

“Mother,” said Kenneth enthusiastically that night, 
“Molly says she’s sure Art and I can handle the tenth 
grade exams in May, ’specially if we get a chance at 
the regular monthly tests. I was beginning to worry 
about it a little, for doing second year high is mighty 
uncertain work when you’ve never been inside a high 
school. She told Professor Robertson how we are 
getting along and he said that likely we would have 
no trouble, but recommended that we come in once 
a month. Father said we could. Isn’t that jolly?” 

“I’m glad for you, my son; but I fear you are 

63 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


wearing yourself out sitting up nights/' replied the 
mother solicitously. 

‘Tshaw, Mother! We're good for it. Another 
year or two, and we can smell college, eh. Mother?" 
The lad patted the little lady affectionately. 

‘‘Smart boy !" chimed in Arthur, laughing. 
“Home-taught, self-made, future greatness, and all 
that. Ahem! Say, Tm a bit tired of this grind; Td 
rather hunt coyotes." 

“Shut up, Art," said Kenneth, tipping the other 
boy’s chair over. “You’d better be digging into your 
algebra." 

“Mother," said Kenneth a few days later, “this is 
Friday, the thirteenth, and the day of our first tests. 
I wonder if there is such a thing as a hoodoo? We’ve 
got to make up to-day for September, October, and 
November — and we start on an unlucky day." He 
finished combing his hair for breakfast, then helped 
his mother carry the steaming dishes to the table. 

Mrs. McGregor only laughed at the boy; she was 
used to the occasional whimsical ramblings. 

Arthur snorted. “If the day isn’t a hoodoo, those 
beastly tests will be, count on that By George ! I’m 
getting tired of the whole thing. There isn’t much 
chance to go to high school next fall, anyway, so 
what’s the use?" He carried the little lamp over to 
the breakfast table and sat down. “Aunt Sarah, did 
you hear a big racket in our room about two o’clock ? 
64 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


That was Kenneth. He knocked a slat out of the 
bed when he turned in. He slept with three books 
under his pillow, and when I woke up at four the 
lamp was lit and he was digging at his Latin to beat 
the band. Before Ld waste good oil and sleep like 
that I’d go back to the primer.” 

‘'Get out, Art!” scolded Kenneth. “Mother, that’s 
hot air. ' He went to bed long after I did. And he 
was the one with the lamp burning at four o’clock.” 

A smile of admiration wreathed the face of the 
mother. 

“I’m proud of my boys,” she said affectionately, 
“but I’m worried for fear you will break yourselves 
down. I do hope you accomplish what you have set 
out to do, though, after the courage you have shown.” 

“Oh, come, come. Mother! That’s just like you 
to worry over us. We’ll give up long before we get 
to the point of breaking down; and as for courage 
— shucks! Who ever heard of a schoolboy with 
courage in his lessons?” 

They were up earlier than usual, for the boys 
planned to reach Sterling in time to spend two hours 
reviewing in the school library. After breakfast they 
immediately saddled their ponies and started on their 
brisk eight-mile ride across the prairies between the 
ranch and the county-seat. As they cantered along 
the brow of the tableland in order to miss the arroyas 
that led down into the valley the shadows of the 

65 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

morning twilight lay deep below them. A faint tinge 
of gold touched the eastern tips of the hills behind 
them. For several miles the lads galloped along in 
silence, conscious of the bracing frost of the morning 
air. 

The mind of each seemed preoccupied in contem- 
plation of the approaching test. Arthur saw the work 
much as an unwelcome obstruction bobbing up to dis- 
turb a placid contentment; but he appreciated what 
his uncle had sacrificed for him so had never trifled 
with his opportunities. Kenneth, on the other hand, 
felt each step in his hard-earned education to be that 
much farther up the ladder leading to some vague 
eminence of knowledge, which, in itself, was but the 
gateway to ambition. Intuitively he seemed to sense 
the vast chasm that lay between his own colorless ex- 
istence and the wealth of knowledge that was a halo 
about the quiet, deep-eyed master in the school toward 
which he rode. Molly, too, possessed that quiet, con- 
scious strength — the product of some power within 
to see — to grasp — to know — the things that were 
worth while. This was the gap — the difference be- 
tween his life and theirs. Kenneth felt within an 
unvoiced longing — some resistless force — that urged 
him on to build a structure that might sometime 
bridge the gap. 

Presently the boys dropped over the crest of an 
unusually long hill which ran out into a level grass- 
66 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


grown valley at the bottom. As their eyes searched 
out the shadowy haze at the foot of the slope a gray 
form stood out boldly in the center. It was a coyote, 
sitting on his haunches. Both cried out at the same 
instant. 

‘Look, a coyote !” 

The animal started up as they rode over the hill, 
trotted a few feet and sat down again. 

A sharp yell from Kenneth did not disturb it. Sur- 
prised at its temerity they dashed down the hill in 
boyish enthusiasm. 

“He’s got something there he doesn’t want to 
leave,” shouted Arthur as they dashed along. 

“A fat chicken, likely,” replied Kenneth. 

Not until the ponies reached the very edge of the 
flat did the coyote turn and dash away. He shot to 
the crest of the hill ahead, paused for an instant, 
then passed out of sight. 

“He was certainly a bold one,” commented Arthur 
as they rode along, looking about them for the re- 
mains of the coyote’s morning meal. Here and there, 
scattered along the vale were a number of black de- 
pressions from six to fifteen feet across — ^buffalo wal- 
lows, evidence of the foragers of an earlier day. 

“Look there. Art!” cried Kenneth, pointing off to 
one side. “No wonder the coyote was so bold.” 

In one of the black wallows, now mud filled, was a 
yearling calf mired in till but his head and a strip of 
67 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


back remained in view. A pitiful, broken bleat was 
their greeting. 

“Poor little duffer!” cried Kenneth as they rode 
up to the helpless animal. It turned a pair of wistful 
eyes toward them. 

“By George, Ken, iPs one of last year’s skim-milks. 
I wonder how he got clear out here,” cried Arthur. 

“Colonel Hanby went past with a little bunch of 
cows yesterday. He must have got out of the yard 
and followed.” Kenneth uncoiled his rope as he 
spoke. 

“I’ll bet he felt sort of queer inside while that 
long-nosed rascal sat there on the bank waiting for 
him, so patient and hungry-looking. And when he 
howled — ugh I” Arthur shivered at the thought. 
“You can snake him out, can’t you ?” 

“Yes, but I may have to wade in to do it. I’m 
afraid dragging him out by the neck will finish him. 
You go on, Arthur; it won’t do any good for both 
of us to stay. It won’t take me long. I may even 
catch you before you get in.” 

It is no uncommon thing to find weaker animals 
mired in the mud of a water-hole. A few minutes 
with a horse and a rope will drag them out to safety. 
So Arthur thought nothing of Kenneth’s task and 
rode on toward town, anxious to make the best of the 
time before the tests began at nine o’clock. 

Kenneth had already tossed his rope over the calf’s 

68 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


head. He cautiously urged Bob to the end of the 
slack, watching the effect of the slow, easy pull. The 
rope grew taut, slipped up behind the calf’s ears, and 
stretched the shrunken neck till it looked pitifully 
thin and frail to the boy’s keen eye. The body 
swayed forward but did not lift from the mire. A 
little tighter, as Bob humped his sturdy back, and still 
the prisoner did riot stir from the vise that held him. 
The frightened eyes bulged, a weak little bleat es- 
caped half-choked from the dry throat — Kenneth saw 
that it was no use. 

'‘Hold up. Bob; we’re only getting him ready for 
the coyote. We need better holts.” 

The boy dismounted quickly, threw off his shoes 
and stockings, rolled up his trousers, and stepped gin- 
gerly into the half-frozen mire. The first foot ven- 
tured broke through the crust and sank nearly to the 
knee; two more cautious steps carried him deeper. 
Instinctively, he felt the folly of his caution, plunged 
forward so quickly as to avoid sinking deeper in the 
gripping mire, and reached the calf. Placing one 
hand on the little fellow, who had already sunk to 
the depth of the mud, Kenneth was able to buoy him- 
self up by shifting his weight in quick alternation 
from one foot to the other. With his free hand he 
now enlarged the noose and dropped it over the calf’s 
whole body, pushing it well down into the mud. Then 
69 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


he turned and plowed back through the mire to the 
bank. 

It required but a minute to again hitch the rope 
to his saddle and to drag the calf from the hole. 
While Kenneth washed the mud from his legs in the 
chilly water of a near-by wallow, the calf rose weakly 
and wobbled off toward the ranch. 

When he was ready to go he looked at his watch 
and saw that he had lost fifteen minutes. By the 
time he could drive the calf slowly back along the 
trail till it quickened its pace at sight of home he 
found with dismay that more than half an hour was 
gone. 

The beaten road to Sterling swung out in a long, 
wide arc to avoid a number of sharp gullies cut in by 
the drain from the tableland to the valley. To fol- 
low the trail meant nearly a mile added to a straight 
line to the town. Kenneth resolved to trust to his 
sure-footed pony and save that mile — and a few of 
the precious minutes he had hoped to spend in the 
library. So he turned away from the road and cut 
across the prairie, straight for Sterling, six miles 
away. 

Bob caught the spirit of his master’s urging and 
swept over the cactus and sage, while the frosty air 
whistled past Kenneth’s ears. His swinging ease and 
the sure step that only a broncho has in a rough 
country brought the cheer back to Kenneth, for a 
70 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


long half-hour lost at the very beginning of a mo- 
mentous day had depressed him. 

On swept Bob like the wind, till he reached the 
arroyas. Some of them were sharp-washed cuts, 
deep and narrow; others wide and shallow, soft with 
drifted sand ; and all had treacherous, crumbling 
banks. Through these Bob picked his way carefully 
with but little diminution in his speed. Over the 
banks, down into the soft bed he leaped, and up 
through breaks in the opposite side ; some of the nar- 
rower cuts he took at a bound, from banks that often 
crumbled behind him. 

Kenneth was jubilant. He had the satisfaction of 
a deed well done and the assurance that there would 
yet be a long hour and a half in the library. 

Bob reached a wide, unbroken stretch and speeded 
along, ears cocked ahead and nostrils steaming. His 
ginger was up, his blood racing as madly as his fly- 
ing feet, and he was eager for a race. Just as he 
reached the two- foot drop into another shallow ar- 
roya, there was a sudden commotion at his feet; a 
long, gray streak shot from under him. With a 
frightened snort he leaped to the side, and plunged 
over the bank, nearly precipitating himself on his 
head. 

Kenneth was caught with his wits far away, among 
his books. As Bob shied, he caught at the saddle- 
horn with a yell of dismay. But he was too late; 

71 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

Bob had leaped from under him. A last desperate 
clutch at the leathers and Kenneth toppled off on the 
sharp edge of the bank. He hung there balanced for 
an instant, then rolled off into the sandy bed. 

“You little fool!'' he sputtered at the pony, who 
now stood meekly eyeing his master, “all this for a 
black-tailed jack rabbit! Why, confound you. Bob! 
I've a good mind to use my quirt on your ribs. Look 
there!" Kenneth laughed at the innocent cause of 
the trouble standing fifty feet away, long ears queru- 
lously alert. 

“Bob, I guess you'll have to be introduced to your 
every-day friends again, and I'll have to take kinder- 
garten lessons in riding a hobby-horse," chuckled Ken- 
neth good-naturedly as he rose to his feet and brushed 
off the sand. 

“Suffering guns!" He clutched for the reins with 
his left hand but dropped it with a cry of pain. 
“What's the matter with that shoulder?" Kenneth 
seized the injured arm and found a great knob pro- 
jecting above where the joint should be. 

“Oh, good heavens. Bob! You've done me up, 
sure." 

At first Kenneth had felt inclined to view the ludi- 
crous fall as a joke. It meant only a moment's delay. 
But now that the numbness had left his injured shoul- 
der he realized the matter was grave. It was not the 
72 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


pain of the dislocated arm that overwhelmed him; 
it was the thought of what he should be forced to 
miss — that for which he had planned and worked 
through many weary nights, which might prove a 
serious handicap in the later tests, and might ulti- 
mately result in failure. Then, too, Kenneth had the 
boyish pride that demands the finish of a thing once 
begun; to fail through a ridiculous tumble into the 
sand was a stinging blow to his conceit. 

The lad gritted his teeth, for the pain was not to 
be ignored. The very intensity of it finally forced 
him to admit himself beaten. Tears gathered in his 
eyes but he dashed them away angrily. 

‘'Darn you, Bob! I ought to thrash you good,'' 
he muttered as he climbed painfully on the penitent 
horse. 

Bob started on across the arroya but Kenneth 
turned him back. 

“No, old boy, the other way. You've queered the 
game, and it's home for us." 

Slowly they picked their way back through the 
cuts and gullies, Kenneth savagely. Bob meek, with 
hanging head. The boy's thoughts finally left the 
tests and settled on himself. His pain, from the jar 
of motion, became well-nigh unbearable. He recalled 
an old cowboy's story of a dislocated knee. He had 
tied a rope to his foot, fastened it to a post outside 
73 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


the door of his shack, ripped up a board in the floor, 
then braced his uninjured leg against a joist and 
pulled till the bone actually snapped into place. That 
recollection gave Kenneth an idea. 

They had gone nearly half a mile on the return trip 
and were just passing one of the numerous abandoned 
wells that dot the western plains. Their four bleached 
posts joined by a little rusty wire make grim re- 
minders of many a losing fight. Kenneth turned his 
horse aside and rode up to the well. 

‘"Here, Bob, is where we get a doctor,’’ said the boy 
grimly, dismounting. 

He took down his rope and tied one end to his in- 
jured arm; the other he secured to the base of a 
post, with enough slack to permit his lying almost at 
full length from the foot. He then lay down on his 
right side, braced his feet, and straightened his body. 
The rope came taut. Setting his teeth, and closing 
his eyes with the added pain, Kenneth pulled with all 
his strength. The ball of the dislocated bone gradu- 
ally slipped back, back, almost in line with the socket. 
There came a dull crackling of rotten wood. The 
post, weak from years of exposure, broke off at the 
ground and toppled across Kenneth’s legs. 

When the end of the bone ground back past the 
joint the boy cried out with the pain. But he knew 
just how near had been success. Gritting his teeth 
74 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


till the knotted muscles of his jaw stood out he rose 
and went to each of the posts. A slight jerk snapped 
each from their rotted stubs. 

‘Fooir' he cried, might have known.” 

He glanced about him, then went to where the 
cabin had stood. A stone or two, half-buried in sod, 
cropped out at one corner of the depression. Ken- 
neth stood for a moment looking at the pile, then 
turned to his pony. 

‘‘Bob, it's you and me for it. This job's got to 
be done.'' 

He looked at his watch. It had stopped. He rea- 
soned in a flash that it had been broken by the fall, 
and guessed that at least an hour had passed since. 
He had yet half an hour in addition to the time neces- 
sary to reach town. 

He then took the loose end of his rope and tied it 
to the saddle-horn, after leading Bob to the rocks. 
Kenneth now lay down in the little grass-grown hol- 
low and braced his feet against the imbedded stones. 
He spoke to the pony. 

“Come, Bob, get into the collar. Steady, now — 
whoa — steady. Go on. Bob, go on. Slow — easy, old 
fellow.'' 

The little horse walked sedately to the end of the 
slack. Then in obedience to the well-understood com- 
mands of his master bent steadily and firmly under 
the pressure on the horn above. He seemed to un- 
75 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


derstand his duty. With feet well braced he slowly 
increased the tension of his pull. 

Kenneth, with his eye on the pony, and his left 
hand clutching the knotted rope that it might not cut 
into his wrist, straightened away from the rocks. The 
forty feet of lariat pulled nearly parallel to the line 
of his body. With his free hand he clutched the dis- 
located shoulder. He felt the bone grinding slowly 
back along the projecting edge of the socket, and, 
though nearly blind with pain, pushed fiercely against 
the rounded end. He felt the projecting curve finally 
reach and bulge past the socket. With a twist and 
a sharp outward thrust of the taut arm he changed 
the angle. There was a sudden snap. 

Kenneth groaned and relaxed his knees. It was 
black before his eyes for a moment. He called to the 
pony but Bob had already stopped. He rose on un- 
steady legs, coiled up his rope, and mounted wearily. 

‘‘Now Bob, it’s up to you again. We’ll take the 
road this time.” 

Three-quarters of an hour later Kenneth walked 
into the classroom. He glanced anxiously at the 
clock. It was just five minutes after nine. He stood 
for a moment in uncertainty, then walked over to a 
vacant desk in the back, near where Arthur was 
seated, and sat down, his face white and set. His 
left hand was in his coat pocket. 

Professor Robertson was between the aisles dis- 

76 


LESSONS ON LARAMIE FLATS 


tributing papers for the test When he reached Ken- 
neth he held out a hand to the pupil whom he had seen 
but once a year; the lad’s grasp was cold and trem- 
bling. The professor looked keenly at him for an 
instant, seemed about to speak, then passed on. 


CHAPTER VIII 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 

O NE morning in December Kenneth and Ar- 
thur stood out in the corral, ruefully eyeing 
the huge empty tank and the whirring wind- 
mill. A hundred gaunt cattle and half a dozen horses 
crowded impatiently around the well licking at the 
thin dribble of the wheezing pump, while the weaker 
ones sniffed in the deep snow along the fence. 

‘‘What do you suppose the matter can be, Ken- 
neth?’' asked Arthur. “It looks as if there’d been no 
water for hours." 

Kenneth held a hand under the dirty spurts for a 
moment, looked for a residue of quicksand, then 
placed an ear to the pump. 

“By George, Art!" he said, eyeing it curiously, “I 
can't believe she's run dry ; that well hasn't been low- 
ered in fifteen years. There's no getting around it, 
though" — he again put down a listening ear — “it 
sounds like the water is low. I'm stumped. Listen 
to the chug." 

Arthur bent down to the pump. “She plunks back 
like the piston were pulling against a vacuum. That 

78 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 


means the valve is good, doesn’t it? If she wasn’t 
there wouldn’t be any water at all.” 

Kenneth nodded. “You’re right, Art — and that’s 
just what puzzles me. There’s something wrong with 
the water.” 

“Then it isn’t there,” declared Arthur. 

“Either that, or the point is full of quicksand ; but 
that isn’t possible, for father said they didn’t find a 
particle when the well was dug. Besides, the point 
just rests on the gravel and is supposed to have ten 
feet of clear water above it.” . 

“I wish Uncle Jim were back,” said Arthur gloom- 
ily; “he’d know in a minute what’s wrong.” 

“Well, he won’t be back for a week. Mother got 
a card from him, by Colonel Hanby, yesterday. He’ll 
stay with those feeders till the market goes up a lit- 
tle, and may not be here for two weeks. We’ve 
either got to fix this alone or one of us will have to 
stay out of school to drive the stock to the river.” 

“Confound the thing, anyway! Why couldn’t it 
wait till we get the cattle out on the range again?” 
grumbled Arthur. 

“It didn’t though,” answered Kenneth, “and we’ve 
got to get busy — right now. I don’t believe these 
brutes have had anything but snow since yesterday 
morning. Queer we didn’t notice it last night. I’m 
going to take a chance on fixing the pump, so you 
take your horse and drive the cattle to the river. 
79 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Tend to the steers while you’re down there. By the 
time you can get back I’ll have a windlass rigged up so 
we can either pull up the pipe or go down to see 
what’s wrong.” 

The wells of the western homesteaders, whether 
bored or dug, range in depth from twenty to three 
hundred feet — beyond that depth they are rarely 
practicable, for such men have the means neither to 
dig nor operate a well when it is necessary to lift the 
water so far. Usually these dug wells are curbed — 
sometimes not — again depending on the means of the 
owner, or the nature of the soil. In the majority of 
deeper wells ordinary pipe, with the usual perforated 
sand-point, is used after water is once reached. Ob- 
viously the only practical way to lift the water is by 
means of the windmill — and of necessity this equip- 
ment must be very substantial. Each stroke must lift 
a volume of water whose weight may reach upward 
to one hundred pounds or more, a weight determined 
by the size of the pipe. The piston rod, which must 
reach to within thirty feet of the water, in most cases 
is of iron and adds greatly to the tremendous strain 
on the rancher’s equipment. Ofttimes he may live 
many miles from other water, so the failure of his 
well is seldom less than a calamity. 

In many cases the supply of water, after the fashion 
of intermittent springs, rises or falls at regular or ir- 
regular intervals, and in not a few cases has failed 
8o 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 


utterly after a long copious flow. In still other in- 
stances poor casing, or none at all, has ultimately 
ended in a cave-in that destroyed the use of the well, 
and often resulted in damage beyond the possibility 
of repair. 

The McGregor well was ninety feet deep. It had 
been substantially curbed when dug — nearly twenty 
years before. The flow of water had been abundant, 
limited only by the capacity of the pipe and mill. This 
was the first failure in the twenty years, that seemed 
to be more than a usual minor break ; there had been 
a dozen petty troubles, but never before had the wheel 
and rod played smoothly with only a feeble spurt 
falling occasionally from the two-inch pipe. 

Shortly after noon Arthur came in with the cattle, 
many of them again seeking the tank, thirsty from the 
long drive. Kenneth had blocked the old windlass 
against the legs of the tower and had wound up the 
old inch rope, which looked dangerously thin and 
worn. An iron-bound bucket — a heavy box strapped 
with numerous iron bands — stood near the open curb- 
ing — the same bucket that had been used to lift the 
dirt when the well was dug. 

“You're not going down, Ken?" asked Arthur un- 
easily, as he saw the windlass and bucket. 

“Not if I can help it," laughed Kenneth, “daylight's 
good enough for me. I've got the bucket here, 
though, in case I can't get out of it. Now the first 
8i 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


thing is to see if we have any water. If we have, 
the trouble’s with the pipe, somewhere.” 

The boys let down a line and found that there was 
water in the well — ^how much they could not be sure. 
They concluded, therefore, that the pipe would have 
to be drawn up. It took more than an hour to accom- 
plish this. After removing the pump and disjointing 
pipe and rod the windlass was attached and the heavy 
weight drawn slowly above the surface. The boys 
noticed that it started with difficulty but were of the 
opinion that the point had been driven several feet 
into the gravel. As each joint appeared the section 
was taken off with the big pipe-tongs. Finally the last 
of the rusty joints was pulled out. Both cylinder and 
sand-point were examined carefully but nothing was 
discovered that could possibly have interrupted the 
flow of water. The boys noticed, however, that the 
end of the pipe, for a distance of about ten feet, was 
coated with mud. 

Kenneth looked at this curiously. 

‘T can’t understand that. Art. There’s no mud at 
the bottom of the well,” he said in perplexity, ‘ffinless 
— by George, Art! unless she’s caved in on us. I 
never thought of that.” 

*‘How could that be?” 'asked Arthur. “The well 
is curbed with two-inch planks.” 

“Yes, but they would be pretty rotten by this time. 
Well, we’re up against it, now. We might as well 
82 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 


take turns staying out and driving the cattle to the 
river till father comes back,” decided Kenneth in dis- 
couragement. 

The boys sat down on the edge of the tank and 
looked at the scattered tools and rusty iron for several 
minutes. Arthur got up after a while and examined 
the last pieces of pipe again; he called his cousin’s at- 
tention to what had attracted him. 

‘‘See here, Kenneth, there’s been water standing 
six feet above where the mud begins. There couldn’t 
have been a very bad cave-in. Why can’t we put the 
pipe back in again with one of the short sections taken 
off?” 

Kenneth laughed. “Then after we had pumped out 
the water on top of the mud, what? Where would 
the rest come from?” he asked. 

“Mmm, that’s so,” admitted Arthur foolishly. “The 
water comes out of the gravel, and that is covered 
with mud. Of course. What a chump! But can’t we 
get down below that mud again? It didn’t take such 
a pull to bring the pipe out; we ought to be able to 
drive it back through and down into the gravel a 
few feet. That’s the way my father did with a well 
where he lived once — drove the pipe down with a big 
maul.” 

“I believe you’re right about getting the pipe below 
the mud; it can’t be very deep or we shouldn’t have 
been able to pull it with this old rope. But we can’t 

83 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

drive ninety feet of pipe — that’s out of the question. 
We haven’t any maul, to begin with.” 

*‘We can build a pile-driver, by George!” declared 
Arthur. 

“You’re certainly a schemer. Art; but I don’t see 
how you can do it,” said Kenneth. 

“Easy,” boasted Arthur. “Take four of those big 
planks over there and brace ’em up on end, right over 
the pipe, for a runway. Get that chunk of bridge- 
pile for a hammer, and pull it up with Bob. We’ll 
need a pulley to fasten up on the tower, a rope to trip 
the hammer, a boot to tie over the pipe — and she’s 
done. We can hit as light or as heavy as we please.” 

“That ought to work,” admitted Kenneth, enthused 
with the idea. “But ninety feet of pipe will bend like 
a wire if it isn’t braced. If we try the scheme I’ll 
have to go down and put a cross-strip every fifteen or 
twenty feet.” 

“Then we’d better give it up. I wouldn’t go down 
in that hole for fifty dollars — and I don’t want 
you to.” 

“We’ll tackle it; I’m not afraid,” decided Kenneth. 
“You get a few sections of that pipe together again 
while I hunt up some strips for cross-braces.” 

Arthur reluctantly gave in to what he considered 
a foolhardy undertaking, though still anxious to try 
his scheme for driving the pipe. It did not take long 
to build the rude driver, and to again lower the rusty 

84 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 


iron into the well. When it was in place and the 
wooden hammer was adjusted Kenneth fastened the 
bucket to the windlass ready to be lowered. After 
putting in his slats he stepped into the box, giving 
Arthur directions to lower away. 

“Let me down about fifteen feet at a time, Art, 
and watch my signals close. When .1 get to the bot- 
tom, block the rope and drop the hammer just as I 
tell you. I’ll have to watch the pipe to see that we 
don’t put any crimps in it.” 

At intervals in his descent Kenneth nailed in the 
braces, selecting the most solid sections of curbing 
against which to rest the ends. As he sank lower into 
the shaft and his eyes became accustomed to the 
gloom, Kenneth was surprised to find that much of 
the rotten curbing had been within comparatively a 
few feet of the top. In the first third of the distance 
were a dozen places where planks were missing; one 
section was gone entirely and back of the break was 
a deep pocket where a mass of yellow clay had slipped 
out — probably the cave-in that had wrought the havoc. 
About halfway down was a great bulge in the casing, 
extending a vertical distance of more than a dozen 
feet; but the planks were less decayed than had been 
those above, so there seemed little danger. Back of 
them, no doubt, was a stratum of sand or gravel that 
had for years pressed the curbing inward. 

The bucket came at last to the black water. Ken- 

85 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


neth had been feeling his way in the darkness with 
the aid of lighted matches, but he had been unable 
to see below; the first knowledge of his depth came 
from the water spurting into the half-submerged 
bucket. He signaled hastily for Arthur to pull up 
a few feet. 

Kenneth saw that the pipe had been lowered nearly 
into its former position and was ready to be driven 
as it stood. He gave Arthur the signal to block the 
windlass and drop the hammer. He lit another match 
and watched closely to see the effect of the blow. 

In a few seconds Arthur's first light tap fell and 
the pipe sank easily nearly three feet. When Ken- 
neth saw this he was elated for he knew that a few 
solid blows would drive the point through the mud 
and into the gravel. It might go harder for several 
feet there but light, cautious hammering would soon 
clear the clay and bring the flow of water again. 

The pipe was still quivering from the first blow as 
Kenneth reached the conclusion that the work would 
succeed; but his heart suddenly leaped to his throat 
as a heavy clod shot past him into the water beneath. 
He stopped, breathless, for an instant, listening in 
terror lest it be but the forerunner of worse to fol- 
low. Only a few grains of sand trickled down upon 
him so he waited anxiously for Arthur’s next blow. 

The fall was a heavy one. The pipe sank unresist- 
ing through several more feet of mud. But while 
86 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 


it still rang with the sharp impact Kenneth was hor- 
rified by a dull crackling of rotten wood. There 
was a sudden darkening of the star-lit shaft above. 
He leaped upright in the unstable bucket and yelled 
wildly to Arthur; but the cry was smothered in a 
fierce gust of sand and displaced air. Kenneth choked 
blindly for an instant in terrified surprise that he was 
still alive. Occasional chunks of wood and dirt whis- 
tled by, several struck him, and one strip of rotten 
plank carried his hat down into the water. 

He called frenziedly again and again to Arthur, but 
the rope did not move. He peered desperately up 
through the dusty vault and saw with horror that 
a section of the curbing had bulged out, half-closing^ 
the passage. 

Another heavy impact of the block came and drove 
the pipe still farther into the mud. Kenneth yelled 
unceasingly but there was no indication that Arthur 
had heard. The crackling continued above and the 
dirt poured in steady streams down into the water. 

Finally a voice from miles above trickled through 
to Kenneth. 

‘‘How’s she coming down there?” 

“She’s caving in! pull me up. Quick — quick 1”^ 
yelled Kenneth. 

Instantly the rope tightened and the bucket started 
up, Kenneth still in breathless terror lest it be toa 

87 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


slow. He watched the dark bulk hanging above him, 
in an agony of suspense. 

At the bottom of the projecting planks the bucket 
lodged. Just below the mass were a pair of the cross- 
braces, and unfortunately the aperture through which 
the rope passed was on the side of the caving wall. 
Kenneth signaled for Arthur to ease the windlass. 
He rose in the bucket and knocked at the braces with 
his hammer. 

The two strips proved to have been the last sup- 
port of the great mass of rotten planks and dirt. As 
the frenzied blows beat the last brace down the huge 
bulk slipped with renewed crackling of timbers and 
ground slowly out toward the pipe. The lower, pro- 
jecting planks caught against the edge of the bucket 
and bore it downward. Kenneth leaped in terror and 
clutched the rusty pipe. 

That instant the whole mass slipped out, crushed 
the pipe against the opposite wall, seemed to pause for 
a second, then crashed with a dull roar to the bottom. 
The upward sweep of displaced air sucked past the 
clinging boy like a great sob. 

Kenneth, with bleeding hands and face, gripped his 
slender column and looked blindly down into the black 
abyss. He saw only the broken rope dangling in the 
yellow dust around him and looking helplessly up- 
ward saw the pale gleam of the open shaft. He tried 
88 


NINETY FEET TO THE TOP 


to draw himself up the pipe but his strength was 
gone and he could but cling in desperation. 

Presently through the echoing roar that still rung 
in his ears Kenneth heard Arthur’s voice. 

“Oh! Answer me, Kenneth, answer me,” it came 
faintly. “Oh ! Oh 1 Oh I He’s killed 1 Kenneth, 
Kenneth !” 

“I’m here yet, Arthur,” answered Kenneth. “I’m 
hanging to the pipe. The bucket’s gone.” 

“Oh, what can I do? Can I help you? Can you 
climb up?” called Arthur. 

“My grip’s gone ; it’s all I can do to hang on. Pull 
up the rope and make a loop in the end.” 

The cable slid up and in a few seconds was back 
again. Kenneth twisted his legs more firmly about 
the slender column and reached for the loop. Very 
carefully, very slowly, he slipped it down over his 
head and under the free arm. Changing his hold he 
finally got it under the other. He rested for a mo- 
ment, then drew the rope taut around his body and 
grasped it above with his free arm. Then he gave 
Arthur the signal to pull him up. 

In a few seconds he was sitting weakly on the 
ground above. His face was black and bleeding, but 
he smiled bravely at Arthur. 

“Say, Art,” he said after a moment's rest, “that’s 
enough for one day.” 


89 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Arthur had been gazing at his cousin in speechless 
admiration. His own face was white and drawn. 

''Here, too, old man. I thought for a minute you 
were gone, when that crash came and the windlass 
shot out of my hands.” 

They soon turned their attention to the pipe. It 
had gone about ten feet — enough to carry it through 
most of the mud. The hammer was again brought 
into use and one more blow drove the pipe to its 
former depth. A new four- foot length was found 
and connected, and the driving resumed though it 
sank with greater difficulty — evidence that the mud 
had been passed. When the pipe at last reached the 
level necessary for the proper connections the home- 
made pile-driver was pulled down and the pump once 
more attached. 

A little anxious as to the outcome the boys threw 
the mill into gear, primed the pump, and waited. It 
took several minutes for the ninety feet of pipe to fill 
but the water finally came with a rush ; it was muddy 
at first, but soon cleared, and the cattle came crowding 
up to the tank. 

"Well?” challenged Kenneth laughingly. 

"She’s fixed,” said Arthur. 


CHAPTER IX 


KENNETH FIGHTS FOR FAIR PLAY 

K enneth McGREGOR shut his Caesar with 
a snap and leaned back for a satisfied yawn. 
The old clock in the other room was just 
ringing the half-hour after ten. 

‘"By George, Arthur, but you’re slow! Still dig- 
ging into your algebra!” he exclaimed to his cousin, 
who sat humped over a mass of disordered papers. 
“Say, old man” — he slapped Arthur resoundingly on 
the back — “you’re asleep! Wake up.” 

Arthur straightened with a jerk and grinned sheep- 
ishly. “Eh? Guess I was. Confound it! Has Dan 
gone yet?” he asked, looking around sleepily. 

Kenneth laughed pityingly. “Has Dan gone?” he 
repeated; “Dan’s been gon’e more than an hour.” 

“He has?” burst out the sleepy lad incredulously. 
“And I’ve been snoozing all this time ! Well, it’s no 
wonder you’ve beaten me in all the tests. Confound 
it ! I can’t dip into this stuff without going to sleep. 
How do you do it ?” 

“Interested,” was the laconic reply. “Say, Art, 
where’d you leave that bunch of examination papers? 

91 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


I want to run over them and see where I fell down 
in November.” 

Arthur rubbed his eyes to recall his scattered wits. 
“Say, I forgot and left them outside; they’re lying 
on the platform under the windmill. Sorry ” 

Kenneth slipped out quietly to avoid waking his 
mother and went to the well where he found the for- 
gotten papers. He was a little surprised to hear 
voices close at hand; the waning moon had just risen, 
but by its dim light he made out several horsemen 
grouped outside the gate. As his eyes became more 
accustomed to the light Kenneth saw that one of the 
men was Dan Wilson, who had called early in the 
evening. He had not made known his errand, but he 
remained for over an hour telling, with considerable 
indignation, of a large flock of sheep that since the 
roundup had come down the full length of Cedar 
Creek and were now grazing back up Spring Creek 
over the best range of Laramie Flats. Dan was work- 
ing for Colonel Hanby, and as the Hanby and Mc- 
Gregor range was the hardest hit, no doubt he had 
come just to tell of the sheep. It was evident that 
some of the boys had met Dan when he came out and 
they had been there ever since. Several saw and 
spoke to Kenneth but the others paid no attention to 
him. It was plain that the speakers were wrought up 
over the subject of their conversation so Kenneth 
paused for a moment and listened. 

92 


FAIR PLAY 


tell you, boys, Hanby hates to have his range 
cut up, but he won’t stand for any such deal as that,” 
Dan was saying. 

*'But, Dan, you’ve got to come; we’ve counted on 
you,” came an insistent voice. 

can’t do it, that’s all. I told you when I agreed 
to go that the colonel would be in Denver tonight; 
but he sent word that he and McGregor would be in 
on the eleven-thirty.” 

‘"He doesn’t need to know that you were off the 
ranch, Dan; we won’t be gone but two or three 
hours.” 

Dan laughed. “You ought to know the old duck, 
boys. Nothing ever happens around Colonel Hanby’s 
ranch that he doesn’t know all about. Before noon 
tomorrow the whole blasted valley will hear of this 
raid. Hanby will be sure to find I was gone part of 
the night — and there you are. Dan Wilson’s goose 
will be cooked — and some of yours, too.” 

“Can’t you leave word with the cook you’ve gone 
to Sterling, and then bunk with one of us tonight?” 

“Too thin; he’d see through it in a second,” replied 
Dan, evidently determined to keep out of it. 

“Oh, well, Dan, if you won’t go, I guess we can 
do the job without you,” was the sneering rejoinder; 
“I want to say though. I’ve always had a feeling that 
you had a streak of yel ” 

Dan Wilson snapped him off. The few sharp 

93 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


words sent a thrill through the tense listener standing 
in the shadow. Kenneth felt, though he could not 
see, the dangerous flare in the speaker’s face. 

*Tuck Jones, you know that where Dan Wilson is 
afraid to go, is a place you've never been.” The last 
words were deliberate and cold. ‘And you’ll take 
that ‘streak of yellow’ — ^back!” 

“Oh, certainly, Dan, certainly; of course it was 
only a little joke. But your going back on us spoils 
a good gang; the fellows will be hot,” was the hasty 
answer. 

“I’m with you yet, boys. I think Warner’s sheep 
ought to be scattered from here to Halifax and his 
herder scared till he’d even shy at his own shadow—^ 
and I’d help to do it in a minute if I wasn’t tied up 
here with Hanby. Go on without me, boys, but good 
luck.” 

Kenneth waited for nothing more. He slipped back 
to the house where he found Arthur again asleep — 
this time in bed. 

“Wake up. Art; wake up,” he whispered. “The 
boys are going to raid the sheep-camp up on Spring 
Creek tonight!” 

Arthur was wide awake in a second. “They are? 
Who? Where’d you hear it?” he demanded excit- 
edly. 

“When I went out to get those papers Dan and a 
bunch of fellows were talking outside the gate. Buck 
94 


FAIR PLAY 


Jones, Cochran, Mont Finly, O’Connor, and two or 
three others were there. They’re to hit the camp 
some time after midnight, I think.” 

“Gee! Are Dan and Finly and O’Connor in it?” 
exclaimed Arthur. 

“Dan isn’t, but the others are; they think they’re 
doing the valley a good turn. There’s Brown, and 
Grant, and a lot of our nearest neighbors.” 

“Great Caesar! What will Uncle Jim and Colonel 
Hanby say to that?” demanded Arthur. 

“They’re not to know. That’s the only reason Dan 
wouldn’t go — the colonel would sure catch him. He’d 
put the whole bunch through no matter if they did 
save his range,” explained Kenneth. 

“It’s funny that Uncle and the Colonel are about 
the only ones that won’t stand for a sheep raid, when 
they are the hardest hit,” wondered Arthur. 

“They’re both queer about that,” replied Kenneth. 
“They say the range is free — for sheep or cattle. 
That’s why they’ve fought the line fences so hard. I 
know, though, that father thinks the sheep ought to 
stay within certain boundaries; but he wouldn’t fight 
’em ofY if they took the whole valley.” 

“What’ll they do to the Mexican,” asked Arthur 
after a pause. 

“If he behaves himself, they’ll beat him up and 
scare him out of the country; if he fights, they may 
kill him.” 


95 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

Thought of the possible tragic outcome of the raid 
depressed both boy^’^so they dropped the subject. 
Kenneth went out listlessly to his lessons; but he 
could not study. A sheep raid was not a new idea 
to him but this one upon which he had inadvertently 
stumbled, and one involving his father’s own friends 
and interests, seemed terribly real to the boy. 

Kenneth, though but in his teens, had already a 
reputation for fair play. He had inherited from his 
grim, kindly father those requisites of character that 
demand justice in all dealings. So, aside from the 
distressing complications that would surely ensue, it 
was the monstrous brutality of the plot that repelled 
him. True, he conceded in his argument as he sat 
thinking, it was the old feud of the cattle against 
the sheep, in a grim struggle where the battle was 
not always to the strong. Kenneth knew well enough 
that range gone over a few times by sheep was there- 
after ruined for cattle ; he knew also that only by such 
raids as the one planned for this night had other en- 
croaching flocks been driven back into bounds where 
cattle laid no claim. But the senseless brutality of it 
stirred the fighting blood in Kenneth’s veins, though 
he knew that the great flock was even now sweeping 
over his father’s best range. He reasoned that there 
was but one thing to do. 

Kenneth hesitated. The thought of warning the 
herder of a raid that would rid the valley of a menace 
96 


FAIR PLAY 

struck him for the instant as an odd act for the son 
of a cattleman; then the thought of his own father’s 
attitude toward these acts of vandalism swept his in- 
decision away. 

He suddenly darted back and wakened Arthur 
again. 

"Art,” he whispered, “Fm going out to warn that 
Mexican and stop the raid — if I can.” 

Arthur instantly leaped out of bed. 

"‘Then I’m going, too,” he exclaimed excitedly. 

“You can’t. Art. Father will be home by midnight, 
and one of us will have to be here to answer, for 
he’s sure to call to us. He mustn’t know about the 
raid, or that I’m gone. If he does he’ll be right out 
there tonight.” 

""But why?” demanded Arthur. “What’s the dif- 
ference? He’ll know tomorrow.” 

""He mustn’t know tonight, anyway.” 

""But what’s the difference? He’ll be glad of what 
you did.” 

“That’s not the point. I may stop the raid, and 
end it ; if I can’t do that, I can at least get the herder 
out of danger. Then by tomorrow it will be hard to 
find out who was there. Father and Colonel Hanby 
will be sure to run them down if they can find out 
who they are — and there are fellows in that bunch 
we can’t afford to fight.” 

Arthur went reluctantly back to bed. Kenneth hur- 

97 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


ried out to the barn and soon rode out of the gate on 
his six-mile run to the Springs. 

He sped along over cactus and sage and drifts of 
snow, avoiding the beaten trail, for he knew that there 
might be others bound for the same place with ears 
alert for the slightest sound. Past Devil’s Blow-out 
he went, now black and yawning with shadows from 
the moon. A coyote shot away from the bank where 
he had stood watching hungrily the carcass of a last 
unfortunate victim ; presently his shivering wail broke 
from the distance, sending a chill through Kenneth. 
In half an hour he struck the lower branch of Spring 
Creek, up which the camp was located, several miles 
toward the Buttes. As he rode along, even in the 
moonlight, he could see the gray barrenness of the 
ground. Involuntarily Kenneth checked his pony; 
why was he dashing over their own half-ruined range 
to warn the agent of its despoiling? The range is 
free, was his answer to the question, as it would have 
been his father’s — and he urged Bob on again. 

Soon he topped the last hill overlooking the shel- 
tered vale wherein the flock now grazed. Below he 
saw, gleaming silver in the moonlight, the great hud- 
dled group; near at hand was the white-covered 
wagon-camp of the roaming herder; close in, the 
picketed team. He cantered down the slope and heard 
the cheerful tinkle of the belled goats scattered 
through the flock. 


98 


FAIR PLAY 


Kenneth knew that the herder would take no 
chances, especially off his range; so he drew up at a 
discreet distance from the wagon. 

"'Como le va, Senor/' he called out; '"como le va.'^ 

The four-wheeled shack creaked and a head was 
thrust through the canvas flap. 

‘Tfello yourself. What do you want?” a youthful 
voice demanded. 

‘Why, I thought you were a Mexican,” exclaimed 
Kenneth in surprise. 

“Not yet, brother, not yet,” laughed the herder. 
“But what do you want this time of night?” 

Kenneth rode close to the wagon. His surprise was 
greater to see in the moonlight the clear, white face of 
a lad but little older than himself. 

“Good gracious, boy ! Are you herding these 
sheep ?” 

“I sure am,” said the amused herder. “Fm no 
greaser — ^yet, if I have got a greaser’s job.” 

“Well, you won’t have it long. They’re going to 
shoot up your camp tonight,” announced Kenneth. 

“Shoot up the camp!” exclaimed the boy on the 
wagon. “What do you mean?” 

“Just that,” replied Kenneth. “It’s straight — no 
joke. I’ve warned you, so you’d better vamose. The 
gang will be here about midnight,” and Kenneth 
turned his horse away. 


99 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


'‘Hold on, there cried the herder. ‘7^st what are 
you giving me?’' 

Kenneth rode back to the wagon and eyed the boy 
curiously. Evidently he was a stranger to the bronz- 
ing sun of the plains for the thin face shone strangely 
white. 

“Don’t you really know?” asked Kenneth pityingly. 
“Are you as green as that ? How long have you been 
with these sheep?” 

“I struck Cheyenne a month ago, today, looking for 
a job — out from Ohio for my health, you know” — ■ 
he tapped his chest suggestively — “and stumbled on 
to this, or rather it stumbled on to me. The man said 
he’d lost a herder, and promised me forty a month. I 
was broke, so here I am.” 

“You certainly are a green one. Well, here’s what 
you’re up against: in less than an hour a bunch of 
cowboys will strike your camp, kill a lot of the sheep, 
scatter the rest forty miles to nowhere, then beat you 
half to death. If you happen to put up a fight you 
may be killed. I suppose from what you say you don’t 
know you’re on our range.” 

“Honest?” cried the boy incredulously, “I’ve read 
of such things, but I can’t quite believe they really 
happen.” 

“They do — and worse, sometimes. I wouldn’t 
waste much time in hiding out,” warned Kenneth 
again. 


lOO 


FAIR PLAY 


The herder drew back into the wagon hurriedly. In 
a moment he crawled out to the ground with some of 
his clothes in his arms. 

‘T can’t see why they should do this,” he com- 
plained as he nervously buttoned his coat. ‘Warner 
bought the pasture here a month ago — the first week 
I took the job.” 

“That’s a funny yarn,” grinned Kenneth searching 
the speaker’s face. “I wouldn’t tell it to anybody else 
— a cattleman, at least; he might call you a liar.” 

The herder flared angrily. “I’m not that kind — yet, 
young man. Perhaps I haven’t been out west long 
enough. But I’ve got Warner’s letter right here in 
my pocket to prove every word I say. He told me 
to start the flock down Cedar and go as far as the 
bluffs; then to switch over to Spring Creek here and 
back toward the canon. I was to keep ’em in a strip 
a mile wide right along both creeks.” 

“Let’s see your letter,” commanded Kenneth tersely. 

The herder produced a dirty sheet of paper. Ken- 
neth struck a match and examined the writing for 
several seconds then tossed the light away. 

“That’s nothing of Warner’s; I know his writing. 
Where did you get this?” demanded Kenneth, hand- 
ing back the letter. 

“The man that sold Warner the pasture brought it. 
I don’t know his name, but he said he owned all this 
flat.” 


lOI 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


'*What did he look like?” asked the horseman in 
astonishment. 

**Big — iron-gray hair — gruff voice — a bad eye ; and 
he rode a Double I J horse.” 

‘^Roarer Jones, by George! — and one of his boys 
leads the gang out here tonight I” 

“Then theyVe jobbed me,” cried the herder. 

“And us — this range belongs to father. Roarer’s 
ranch is at the Buttes. We don’t hitch,” said Ken- 
neth. 

“I remember now, he warned me to keep my sheep 
away from there.” The frail-built lad looked keenly 
at Kenneth. “But if this range belongs to you, why 
are you out here tonight?” he demanded suddenly. 

“I like to see fair play — that’s all,” was the simple 
reply. 

Kenneth took the hand thrust impulsively toward 
him; it felt pitifully thin and weak in his calloused 
grasp. 

“Thanks, old man,” said the herder hoarsely. 

Kenneth was struck with sudden sympathy for the 
bewildered boy. “Time’s about up, young fellow,” 
he said; “climb on behind and I’ll take you down the 
draw a ways. If the gang leaves any sheep for you, 
gather ’em up in the morning and strike for your 
own range.” 

“Quick!” he commanded as the herder made no 
move. “We can’t fool any longer. I want to meet 


102 


FAIR PLAY 

the fellows out a ways and do what I can to stop 'em. 
Quick, jump on." 

The other boy sat down on the tongue of his 
wagon. ‘T don't believe Fll go," he said irresolutely. 

Kenneth glared in amazement. '‘Why, you’re 
crazy, man; you can’t do any good ; you’ll only be half- 
killed yourself. Come on," commanded the waiting 
rider roughly. 

'T can’t, pardner — not after you came clear out 
here to warn me. I don’t believe I want to be a quit- 
ter. You wouldn’t run if you were in my place." 
Somehow there was a faltering chord of manhood in 
the frightened herder, that strove to respond to what 
he had seen in Kenneth. Kenneth did not reply at 
once. 

"Of course you wouldn’t run," went on the herder, 
his valor growing under his own lash. "Who, but a 
coward and a quitter, would hire out to tend even a 
bunch of sheep, and then run when the first wolf 
howled ? Not me — now ; I’ll take my medicine like a 
man. And so would you, pardner — after what you’ve 
done tonight." 

"I guess you’re right, old man," admitted Kenneth. 
"I believe I’d stay. But the gang thinks you’re a 
greaser — they won’t give you a chance. They like 
spunk, but they’ll call you stupid." 

"I’ll feel right about it myself, anyway." 

"Well, I have to admire your nerve ; but I’d rather 
103 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


see you go. If you won’t, that ends it. I’m going to 
meet the gang and see what I can do. I’m afraid 
they’ll only laugh at me, but I can at least try.” 

‘'Won’t they take you for me — ^the greaser — if you 
ride out there?” queried the herder anxiously. 

“Hardly,” laughed Kenneth as he mounted. 
“They’re not used to sheep-herders on horseback.” 

Both boys were silent for a moment. Far from the 
south came the questioning, long-drawn howl of a 
coyote; from the north came its answer. They 
glanced at each other in the dim moonlight. They 
knew instinctively that signal of human approach. 
After a second of tense listening, Kenneth heard 
the faint pounding of unshod hoofs along the wind- 
blown trail. 

“They’re coming,” he announced quietly. “Say, 
boy, I wish you’d make up your mind to hide out. 
I’m afraid ” 

“So am I ; but I can’t — I won’t he a coward and 
quitter.” 

“I’m awfully sorry ” Kenneth turned his horse 

and rode slowly away. Two hundred yards to .the 
south of the flock he stopped, listening for the ap- 
proach of the gang. The pounding of hoofs had 
ceased, and Kenneth thought for a moment that he 
had probably heard some belated cowboys riding in to 
the valley. Presently, far to the right, he saw a 
104 


FAIR PLAY 


group of horsemen in the dim light of the moon. 
They were approaching slowly, evidently to surprise. 

“There’s the dirty greaser, now,” yelled one of the 
riders, descrying Kenneth; “come on, boys, let’s fix 
’im.” The whole gang of more than a dozen cow- 
boys suddenly put spurs to their horses and dashed 
toward the boy, who stood quiet with hands high 
above his head. “Hands up, you black-livered son of 
a don,” they yelled as they bore down upon him. 

“Hold on, boys, hold on,” shouted Kenneth at the 
top of his voice. “I’m Kenneth McGregor, I’m Ken- 
neth McGregor. Stop ” 

The yelling cowboys and the thunder of the hoofs 
that swept around him drowned Kenneth’s voice. A 
rope swished through the air and he was jerked vio- 
lently from his horse, rolling a dozen feet before the 
momentum of the charging rider could be stopped. 

The frenzy of the moment whirled the cowboys 
into senseless fury. They gathered around the pros- 
trate form each shouting his uncouth, blatant jests, 
and many of them waving their guns. The unintel- 
ligible sounds from the victim that endeavored to 
regain his feet only added to the savage pleasure of 
the gang. 

“Beat the life out of him” — “Kill ’im” — “Snake ’im 
around while we pepper the woollys” — and a dozen 
more vicious threats mingled in the babel of confu- 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Finally Kenneth was jerked to his feet and a voice 
that he instantly recognized roared above the din. 
“Stand up, you snake ! Shut up, all you howling coy- 
otes! We’ll hog-tie the greaser and let ’im watch 
the game. When we’re through with the sheep ” 

“Hold on. Buck, for heaven’s sake I” cried Kenneth ; 
“don’t you know me? I’m no greaser — I’m Kenneth 
McGregor.” 

His voice sounded clear and distinct above the 
lessening din. Instantly there was silence. The gang 
crowded up, with a burst of angry oaths. 

“I’ll be hanged, if it isn’t the kid!” exclaimed the 
leader. Buck Jones, with an oath. “What’ re you 
doing here?” he demanded. “Say it quick.” The big 
cowboy thrust a threatening face against the lad’s. 

“I came here to ” began Kenneth breathlessly. 

“Squeal to the greaser,” interrupted a voice furi- 
ously. “The spying sneak!” 

“Quick, kid,” roared Buck, “did you squeal to the 
Mex? Has he gone?” 

No one waited for Kenneth’s reply; like a flash the 
gang charged across to the wagon. 

“Come back, come back, boys!” screamed the boy 
as they rushed away. “Let him alone, he’s no greaser 
— he’s only a kid.” 

Kenneth heard the same brutal threats and the 
yells that had met him, when the furious riders 
crowded up to the wagon. Buck’s curt command, 
io6 


FAIR PLAY 


"Dukes up, you hound,” came first to the listening 
boy, then the sharp orders to his men : "Not too rash, 
now; remember Mac’s kid back there. I’m sorry he 
ain’t a greaser, but twenty licks apiece with a raw- 
hide will show ’im there’s better climates than this. 
Pull off his shirt and go to ’im, boys.” 

Kenneth had thrown off the rope that encircled him 
and started after the gang. He reached the outskirts 
of the group just as the first blow whipped sharply 
across the herder’s bare back. The lash stung Ken- 
neth as well as the youth he was befriending. He 
knew that it was useless for him to remonstrate for 
the gang, all rough, coarse men, knew him only for 
a boy. He could not change them from their vicious 
purpose, though he felt that he had checked what 
might, perhaps, have ended in a tragedy. The sharp 
cuts of the rawhide whistled and snapped crisply in 
the still, clear air of the night as they fell on the bare 
flesh of the silent herder. Kenneth heard the hiss 
before each impact of the lash and felt the venom in 
the savage arm behind. It was the old law of herds 
— extant since the infancy of a pastoral world; but 
the fair-minded boy, trembling in his fury, felt in- 
stinctively that even Justice with all her vaunted equity 
is no match for the hordes of might. 

Kenneth was in helpless anguish. He knew no way 
to break the resistless purpose of these grim, now 
silent men. They were all men he knew, some of them 
107 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


best and nearest neighbors, but they were men who 
seemed to feel the justice of their act, savage though 
it was. They would laugh at him. 

But each blow cut him to the quick. He felt keenly 
the savage injustice, but more keenly still the senseless 
punishment of an innocent lad whom in a few brief 
minutes he had come to admire. A blind fury ob- 
sessed him. Before the sixth blow fell Kenneth 
dashed into the eager group and seized the upraised 
lash. 

“You cowards 1” he screamed, “you senseless 
brutes! Can’t you sec he’s only a kid? Call your- 
selves men ” 

Buck Jones leaped out and jerked him back with 
a grip of iron. 

“That’s enough, my little man. Run home to your 
mam ” 

Kenneth tore loose and struck the big cowboy full 
in the face. 

“Don’t baby me, you bully !” cried the frenzied boy. 
“I know every one of you fellows — ^you. Buck Jones — 
you, Mont Finly — ^you, Cochran, Grant, O’Connor — 
and the rest of you — and I’ll squeal on the whole 
gang. It’ll be a nice mess when I tell father, Colonel 
Hanby, and the whole valley how you big cowards 
beat up a boy no bigger than myself.” 

“Say, listen to the kid — ^he’s an orator,” inter- 
108 


FAIR PLAY 

rupted one of the boys in a feeble attempt at jocu- 
larity. 

Kenneth whirled on him defiantly. 

'*Oh, it may be sport — now; but you cowards dare 
to touch this kid again, or kill a single one of his 
sheep, and I’ll tell the whole country who did it. 
They’ll believe me, too. They don’t all raid sheep- 
camps — or steal cattle, either, I’ll tell you that. Buck 
Jones.” 

He was again in the savage grasp of Buck. 

“You’ll hit me, will you, you little whelp? and call 
me a coward — and a rustler? I’ve a mind to 
beat ” he drew back his fist threateningly. 

Kenneth tore loose again and squared up to the 
big cowboy. There was a defiant force about the 
fearless youth who stood with head thrown back, 
fists clenched at his side, and eyes flashing in the 
moonlight, that was effective. Buck did not strike. 

“Do it, Buck, do it,” he taunted. “Just hit me, if 
you dare.” 

Before the challenge could be answered, the sound 
of hoofs thudding across the prairie broke in upon 
the expectant group — some with fists clenched against 
the brutal Jones, while others waited, pleased with the 
diversion. All turned and saw three riders racing 
furiously out of the shadow. Without a word the 
group swiftly dissolved and, mounting their ponies, 
109 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


plunged into the gloom toward the bluffs of Cedar 
Creek. 

The three horsemen dashed up to where Kenneth 
and the half-clad herder stood. 

“By George,” called Arthur, “you did stop ^em, 
didn’t you?” 

McGregor and Hanby jumped from their horses 
and looked searchingly at the frail herder. 

“Gad, a boy !” exclaimed the colonel fiercely. “Mac, 
we shan’t tolerate an outrage like this — no matter 
how well the gang meant.” 

“Kenneth, who were those fellows?” demanded the 
father. 

“I can’t tell you. Father,” answered Kenneth, hesi- 
tatingly. 

“Come, come, you don’t mean you don’t know 
them.” 

“I do know them, but I think you’d rather not.” 

“Kenneth! No evasion — who were they?” was the 
insistent demand. 

“I just can’t tell you, Father ; I’m sure we’ll have 
less trouble if I don’t.” 

McGregor seized his boy’s shoulder roughly. 

“Mac,” interposed the colonel, “the lad may be 
right, after all. I can imagine some boys I’d hate to 
punish for this.” 

“I can tell you something that means more than 
who those cowboys were, and that’s how these sheep 
no 


FAIR PLAY 

happen to be down here on our range,” said Ken- 
neth. 

Then he told them of the green herder’s orders. 

‘And the fellow that claimed to have sold this pas- 
ture to Warner,” he concluded, “was big, had iron- 
gray hair, a gruff voice, a bad eye, and rode a horse 
branded Double I J — and he warned the herder to 
keep away from the Buttes.” 

“Mac,” said the colonel, “the boy is right; we’ve 
got enough on our hands to take care of Roarer 
Jones.” 

As they mounted to go home the boy-herder went 
up to Kenneth and held out a grateful hand. 

“Pardner, you’re white clean through — all of you. 
I’m going to take these sheep back to the canons to- 
morrow and quit a job like this — I’ve had enough.” 


CHAPTER X 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 

W E’RE counting on your name at the head of 
the list again this year. Colonel Hanby, 
with a nice, big subscription for the 
Christmas tree.” 

Molly Shannon smiled at the big, jovial cattleman 
with all the assurance that nineteen years and the dis- 
tinction of teaching the school of Laramie Flats could 
give. To the colonel any smile was contagious, so 
he laughed back at Molly, winked slyly at Kenneth, 
who rode on the other side, and pulled Black Imp 
close to the weathered buckboard that carried the 
girl on her daily three-mile ride to school. 

‘‘Oh, I suppose you’ll wheedle me out of the price 
of a fat steer again, Molly, just as usual,” grumbled 
the ranchman, in mock ill-nature. 

“But just think how happy it makes everybody,” 
said the girl joyfully. “If you and Mr. Grant didn’t 
give us money so generously we’d have a sorry Christ- 
mas; for there aren’t many who can afford much but 
help: — ^and help doesn’t buy pretty presents.” 


II2 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


Kenneth knew very well that nothing in the world 
could induce Colonel Hanby to refuse his usual open- 
hearted Christmas offering, so knew, too, that Molly 
did not mean to argue. 

'*Oh, I know, Molly, I know,^' interposed the 
colonel, as if afraid that by some chance she had mis- 
read him, ‘^it's precious little some of these poor home- 
steaders get out of life, and Fm glad to make one 
bright spot in a year. Just put me down for any sum 
you want to name, Molly, — I’ll leave it to you,” he 
burst out impulsively. 

‘‘There, Kenneth!’^ cried Molly jubilantly, “what 
did I tell you? The very words! Colonel, I told 
Kenneth when I saw you coming, that I was going to 
start our Christmas list with you, and I told him ex- 
actly what you’d say. Oh, Colonel Hanby, I know 
you to a t-y, ty.” 

“Tut, tut, Molly! You think I am an easy mark, 
eh?” sputtered the amused colonel. “Well, I’ll just 
put strings on that offer, and show you,” he threat- 
ened. 

“Oh, but you can’t do that now; you’ve already 
promised. Didn’t he, Kenneth ?” 

“It’s not much of a restriction, Molly, just this. I 
want to see every little shaver there have a jolly good 
time, so I charge it up to you to deliver the goods. I 
don’t know what’s wrong, but somehow last year I 
felt as if some of the folks had a better time than 

113 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

others — they don’t all seem to loosen up. Haven’t 
you noticed it, Molly?” 

‘*Yes, I have,” replied the girl promptly, as though 
the subject had been ready to leap from her of its 
own accord, *'and I know just what causes it. I no- 
ticed it last year, but haven’t been able to think of a 
way to remedy it. I’ll tell you what the trouble is: 
a lot of the old folks have more fun than the kiddies — 
and that’s not right. And here’s the reason : the cow- 
boys — some of yours, too. Colonel Hanby — don’t 
have many good times in a year, so they want to cele- 
brate when Christmas comes. They spend the last 
penny of their wages to buy presents for everybody 
they know, then come to the schoolhouse for a big 
time. Just as soon as the program is over and the 
‘tree’ and good time begin, they get jubilant and 
noisy. Before we know it they are running the 
Christmas tree and the whole house. That’s all right 
— for the boys; they’re nice fellows — most of them — 
and they deserve a good time; we wouldn’t, for the 
world want them to stay away. But the little young- 
sters, Colonel — ^the timid kiddies that come expecting 
a jolly time; the ones that Christmas is meant for, 
after all — are stepped on, crowded out, and finally 
about forgotten. After a while they hide around like 
frightened rabbits and wish they hadn’t come.” It 
was something that Molly had pondered over and she 
warmed to it, her enthusiasm contagious to the colonel. 

114 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


‘‘By George, Molly!” he shouted, slapping his fat 
knee, and unconsciously digging a spur into his sur- 
prised pony, “you’ve hit the spot. That’s just what’s 
the matter : the big folks have the fun while the little 
shavers hide out like scared rabbits,” he repeated, 
struck with the fitness of Molly’s figure. “I tell you, 
a lot of those old fossils forget they had their good 
times twenty years ago,” he added indignantly, for- 
getting his own failing. 

“I’m going to keep my committee at work till they 
change that, just you see,” declared Molly with a 
toss of her determined head. “If they can’t, I shall.” 

“You do,” burst out the impulsive rancher, “and 
I’ll foot the bill. Say,” he went on with an earnest- 
ness that betrayed the source of a thousand kindly 
deeds, “say, Molly Shannon, if you can figure out a 
scheme that’ll give every youngster from six to sixty 
that homey, happy, don’t-care-what-comes-I’m-going- 
to-be-glad feeling, I’ll just put my name down for 
twice what I’ve ever given before — and I’ll lend the 
committee all the horses and cowboys they can use; 
and there’s others that’ll do the same.” 

“Say, Kenneth,” he continued with a merry twinkle 
in his eye, “you watch that girl. Gad! If I were just 
a little younger — I’d make the young sparks tend their 
knitting.” 

Both Molly and Kenneth blushed rosily as the 
colonel fired his merry, parting shot. 

115 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘He’s a gay old soul, isn’t he?” said Kenneth as 
they rode on. “He’s right about Christmas, too; we 
sure ought to plan something different — or at least 
better.” 

“We shall,” declared Molly. “I’ve been worrying 
about it ever since last year. I’ll tell you — I’ve got to 
go home now, or I’d explain a scheme I’ve figured 
out — we’ll have the committee meet at my school- 
house Friday afternoon and do some planning, for 
it’s high time we had things started. We’ll see if we 
can’t plan something new. You’re one of the com- 
mittee, Kenneth, so think hard before Friday. Good- 
bye — and oh, Kenneth, I forgot to tell you that 
Professor Robertson says you and Arthur average up 
in those monthly tests with his best. I’m proud of 
my high school pupils.” 

Kenneth rode on thrilled with pride, and conscious 
of a strange pleasure in the wholesomeness of the 
little brown-eyed teacher. Somehow there was a 
presence — a second self about the girl — that lifted 
her far above and away from him; but the other 
simpler self — ^the personality that worked and felt and 
seemed to think with him — was down to his own level. 
He could understand that part of her, could see it, 
and was in perfect content to feel the presence near 
him — for she seemed only a simple-hearted, earnest 
girl. The other self — ^that which drew him up out 
of himself, and showed him big dreamy, wished-for 

ii6 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


things — he could not understand. But he liked her; 
if he were only a little older 

Molly Shannon had been for three years the chair- 
man of the Laramie Flats Christmas Committee, and 
ex-officio commander-in-chief of the working forces. 
The honor had descended upon her quietly and 
naturally, without solicitation, for Molly was con- 
ceded to be the most capable and willing of the few 
girls in that little valley of ranches. To be sure, two 
other prim little high school graduates from Sterling 
had invaded the Flats and, with Molly, were in charge 
of the three widely separated schools ; but at the first 
breath of the holiday vacation the two had always 
fled back to town, fearful of spending an impossible 
Christmas among these homely plainsmen. Some- 
how, the examples they should have set, the breaches 
they should have filled, found a more worthy substitute 
in the earnest, brown-eyed Molly. 

And Molly always manned the bridge deserted by 
less conscientious defenders. In this sparsely settled 
corner of the world there were the rudiments of a 
social fabric, as well as the feeble, struggling church. 
‘T don’t see how I can go today; but Molly will be 
there and she’ll look after my work,” was the current 
excuse of many to whom certain duties had been pre- 
scribed — and Molly never failed them. 

For a number of years the ranchmen and home- 
steaders of the Flats had joined the forces of their 
117 


THE LUCK OF LARAJVIIE RANCH 


three schools for the Christmas entertainment. They 
had done this for the sake of economy and con- 
geniality — the lonesome pioneers loved to gather for 
a social time at least once a year, and incidentally, to 
celebrate Christmas. The Laramie schoolhouse, the 
largest and most centrally located, had been chosen 
as the common center. A joint committee of the 
younger, most capable members of the districts had 
been selected, with Molly as the chairman. She had 
been eminently successful in her efforts to enliven the 
stolid plainsmen, for she was a girl that would have 
been ranked a leader anywhere. 

Verdie Pollock, the third member of the executive 
committee, came to Molly’s schoolhouse at recess. 
Molly, as was her custom of a Friday afternoon, dis- 
missed her pupils early, and the committee went into 
session. Without preliminary, the chairman plunged 
into the subject as she had first discussed it with the 
colonel. Verdie was at first surprised, but under 
Molly’s vivid portrayal, soon saw the weakness in 
the Christmas festivals. 

‘T tell you, folks, it isn’t fair,” argued Molly. ‘T 
never told you, did I, what Benny Morris said to me 
last Christmas, after the 'tree’ was over and the 
presents had all been given out? No? Well, the 
poor little cripple limped from behind those spruce 
boughs we had to decorate the corners, and looked 
at me so wistful-like I just wanted to cry. 'Molly,’ 
ii8 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


he said, ‘I wisht I hadn’t never tomed. The big folks 
just pushed and trowded me so, I touldn’t hold my 
presents. They knocked ’em down an’ stepped on ’em 
an’ broked ’em all up. Just see my poor, ’ittle doggy. 
I wisht I hadn’t never tomed, Molly’ — and the tearful 
little fellow showed me his toy, woolly dog, with three 
of his legs crumpled and broken. It isn’t fair, I say; 
Christmas was meant to make him happy as well as 
for anybody else — it certainly means more to tots like 
him.” 

Molly’s mention of the crippled boy brought no 
response from the others. Instead, they sat very still, 
staring uncomfortably out into the snow. Little 
Benny had always been a pitied favorite in the whole 
valley. Three years before, when scarcely more than 
a baby, he had been caught in a stampede of mad- 
dened steers that swept past the Morris cabin. The 
child’s father, in an heroic effort to save Benny’s life, 
gave up his own. The child was taken from beneath 
the lifeless form a cripple, but alive. Some internal 
hurt was slowly bearing him down, and for weeks, 
lately, he had not left his bed. There were tears in 
both girls’ eyes. Even Kenneth choked back feelings 
that seemed unmanly for him to show. 

‘Now, folks,” began Molly after asking in vain 
for suggestions from the others, ‘T’ve got a scheme, 
if you haven’t. I’ve thought about it for days, and 
I think it is just the dandiest — if I do say it. 

119 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘We’ll have two entertainments instead of one,” 
she announced, pausing for the effect; “one in the 
afternoon for young children and old children, the 
other at night for old grown-ups and young grown- 
ups — like us,” she laughed. 

“But ” began Verdie doubtfully, 

“Now just wait, Verdie, I know there’s a dozen 
objections, but we’ll get rid of ’em. The first doings 
will begin at three o’clock with the biggest feast you 
ever saw. There’ll be a real Christmas dinner, with 
turkey and all the trimmings — something most of 
these homesteaders can’t have once in ten years — just 
for the old folks and the kiddies. Then there’ll be 
a program; then the tree, with its candles — just at 
dusk — and the children’s very own ; then home again.” 

“But, Molly, you can’t expect ” objected Ken- 

neth. 

“Of course, you silly, we can’t expect the fathers 
and mothers to bring the youngsters, take them home 
again, and then come back for the next act — and 
they won’t. But about a dozen of you big boys will. 
You’re going to fill your wagons with straw and lots 
of thick blankets, and you’re to go to every ranch 
on Laramie Flats and pick up every kiddie 
and grandpa or grandma that wants to come. Then, 
after the celebration you’ll take them home again, 
safe. At night v/e’ll have our own entertainment just 
the same as usual, except that we won’t have to crowd 


120 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


out some little cripple to have a good time. Of course 
all that want to come to both festivals can — ^but they'll 
have to understand that each is made for special 
crowds. 

“Then there's Benny, folks; he's never going to 
see another Christmas — not even at home in bed. 
We're going to fix up the dearest little tree for him, 
and fill a big box with lots of presents and Christmas 
goodies for both of them; then send everything over 
for Christmas Eve. Maybe some of us can get away 
between acts and run over to see them enjoy it. Now 
what does the committee think of the scheme," she 
concluded, breathless and flushed. 

“Bully!" shouted ' Kenneth, enthusiastically. “Mol- 
ly, the youngsters will mob you, they'll be so tickled." 

“I do believe that will be the finest Christmas we 
ever had," said Verdie; “but who will manage all 
that work? It’ll take some management to clean up 
the afternoon disorder before the second entertain- 
ment begins," was her very practical query. 

“Committees," said Molly briefly ; “a committee for 
everything, from sweeping the floor to carving the 
turkey. We’ll make a lot of the boys from the Box J, 
the L F, and the Twenty-two ranches come down and 
help. They’ll wash dishes, wait on table, light can- 
dles, clean up the litter — anything and everything we 
need help for. We’ll make everybody work ; that'll be 
part of the fun.” 

I2I 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘Gee!'* chuckled Kenneth, “Fll bet a cookie that 
strikes old Colonel Hanby’s funny bone. He’ll shell 
out like he would for a horse-race. He’ll want to be 
the big chief at both entertainments, too, just you 
see. He’ll lord it over the babies and grandmas, and 
then want to boss our bunch. But he’ll keep every- 
body good-natured, that’s sure.” 

Then the three went into serious session and ap- 
pointed dependable sub-committees for every phase 
of the work they could conceive. Kenneth and Arthur 
and Verdie’s brother were ordered to apprize the 
widely scattered appointees of their selection, with 
the command that all those whose duties began before 
Christmas were to report immediately to Molly for 
detailed instructions. 

Instantly the new and novel plan for Laramie’s 
Christmas came into pleasing popularity. Naturally, 
every child was delighted with the prospect of an en- 
tertainment just for them, and counted the hours 
before the feast that, to many, must take the place 
of an only too meager Christmas dinner; then the 
tree, that should be their very own! There was 
scarcely a homestead or ranch that was not repre- 
sented in one or more of the numerous committees; 
this fact brought a zest into the community’s interest 
that had never been approached in their holiday an- 
nals. 

But what meant more to everyone was the fact that 


122 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


it was Molly's scheme — a plan that left none out, not 
even the baby or the toothless grandma, and intended 
to bring joy and gladness into every heart. So little 
had many of these grim, hard plainsmen seen of the 
human heart-touch that makes life worth while, they 
could only sense vaguely the motive that lay in the 
modest maiden’s heart. But they did not, as a more 
critical world might have done, dissect a thousand 
motives that had no existence; they knew Molly, and 
they knew gold when they saw it. 

In Colonel Hanby’s mind there was no question as 
to Molly’s purpose ; he knew her like a book. The in- 
stant he heard of the plan he knew it would succeed 
and he intended that she should taste the fruits of 
her endeavor. Perhaps a touch of pride in his own 
profound diction had its weight with the colonel; 
however, the big-hearted fellow lost no time in stir- 
ring up the whole community to a secret enthusiasm 
in a scheme of his own to reward Molly handsomely. 
It was a big surprise, to remain a profound secret till 
Christmas Eve, and to be told by the colonel himself. 

But it was a secret hard to keep. It was primarily 
the colonel’s own, though backed enthusiastically by 
every cowboy and homesteader on the Flats; as such 
it filled his time and mind. For two whole weeks he 
thought and talked of nothing else: Molly Shannon 
and his big surprise. 

All this Kenneth saw and enjoyed; he was strangely 
123 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


glad that Molly was his friend. He had the feeling 
that the girl’s thoughtfulness, her tireless endeavor 
to bring gladness to the hearts of others, the love and 
esteem and all but reverence in which the people held 
her, were his, too, in a measure, to enjoy. Molly’s 
friendship meant to him, vaguely, the sharing of her 
gladness. Again to him came the impression that 
there was about the girl a hidden personality — the sec- 
ond self, that was the source of all her charm. 

‘‘What do you think, Kenneth?” said Molly a few 
days later, “Colonel Hanby had a big secret he was 
bound he wouldn’t tell me. So he met me yesterday 
and told it, nearly all; I guessed the rest.” 

“Well, if that isn’t like the old duffer,” laughed 
Kenneth. “He promised all the boys, on the honor 
of a Kansas colonel, that he wouldn’t breathe a word.” 

“Oh, he’ll swear by his goatee, now, that he never 
told me a blessed thing. But here’s the way he did 
it: 

“ ‘By George, Molly,’ he said, ‘if you could hear 
all the good things every one of these crusty ranchers 
is saying about you, it would turn that something head 
of yours.’ 

“Of course I blushed very sweetly. ‘Oh, pshaw!’ 
I said, ‘then I’d better not hear anything. But why 
all the fuss? I’m only one of dozens working like 
beavers to make a nice Christmas?’ 

“ ‘Tut, tut, Molly!’ he objected, ‘they all know you 
124 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


planned the whole thing. Why, I’ve talked with every 
man on the Flats within the week, and I know what 
they think — and you’ll know, too, about Christmas 
Eve.’ 

‘‘Well, what would you expect? I smelled a secret, 
of course; he winked, too, so I said: ‘Why, Colonel 
Hanby ! I do believe you’re trying to tell me a secret 
— something you’re bound I shan’t find out’ — and I 
laughed at him. 

“He got red in the face and was very emphatic. 
‘Tut, tut, Molly! I’ve told you nothing,’ he declared. 

“ ‘Of course not,’ I said, ‘but you’ve told me you 
have a secret you must not tell — and that’s half the 
telling. Oh, you naughty Colonel! Why couldn’t 
you wait?’ 

“Then he got purple and stormed. ‘Come, come 
now, Molly! Tut, tut! I haven’t told you a word, 
have I? Just tell me something I’ve told you. Come, 
now, Molly ! Don’t you dare say I told you a single 
word’ — and he fairly sputtered. 

“I called him a dear old colonel, and told him, of 
course, that I wouldn’t tell. But I guessed it, Ken- 
neth; I could see the colonel had a nice Christmas 
present up his sleeve — and, I surmised, the speech 
that goes with it.” 

Kenneth was highly amused at Molly’s portrayal of 
the colonel’s treachery. 

“He’s as bad as a schoolgirl, isn’t he, Molly ? Noth- 

125 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


ing’s a very good secret till somebody knows youVe 
got it. The colonel wasn’t clever enough to see you’d 
guessed it outright, was he? Well, Molly, you can’t 
guess the present, so you’ll have that much to look 
forward to. You’ll be surprised; I’ll tell you that.” 

‘‘Oh, tell me what it is to be, Kenneth, do” — then, 
“No, don’t, don’t. I want it to be a surprise. I’ll 
just revel in the thought of the dear gift and the fine 
old colonel’s magnificent speech — for I know it will 
be as flowery as a summer garden. But, Kenneth, 
we can’t talk about my Christmas gifts all day; I’ve 
got a thousand orders for you.” 

Through the intervening days Kenneth and Arthur 
were Molly’s right-hand men. They helped with the 
duties of every committee, and did a hundred tasks 
that sprang into life unexpected. They helped Molly 
with the programs, the trimming of the trees, and 
leaped into a dozen breaches where duties had been 
forgotten. Through it all Kenneth absorbed the glad- 
ness and joy, unconcealed, bubbling from the little 
chairman. Nor was he the only one: every worker, 
every child, seemed to have caught the contagion of 
the girl’s spontaneous enthusiasm. 

Kenneth could only marvel at it. How this girl, 
with her charm and education, could so give herself 
wholly to the little festival for stupid children, un- 
couth cowboys, and stone-encrusted plainsmen was 
something he could not understand. Again, that 
126 


MOLLY SHANNON’S CHRISTMAS 


higher self — the personality he could not approach — 
seemed to be the master, guiding hand, though it was 
her simpler, sweeter self that mingled with the peo- 
ple. 

He saw how she performed her myriad of duties, 
always with a song on her lips and gladness in her 
heart. He saw her charming, studious indifference to 
the sly winks and whispered asides of the tots she 
trained. 

She shaped with perfect touch the last detail of 
the momentous day, so that everything would move 
in harmony, with scarce a guiding hand. 


CHAPTER XI 


COLONEL HANEY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 

T he morning before Christmas Eve Kenneth 
went to the sod schoolhouse and helped 
Molly trim the little tree for Benny; together 
they filled the generous box to overflowing, the girl 
supplying a dozen things of which Kenneth never 
would have thought. After noon he was to take them 
over to the widow Morris’s; Molly would meet him 
there and they would arrange everything so that the 
tired mother should have only to carry the surprise 
in to Benny’s bedroom when night should come. 
Then they would go on to the afternoon’s festivities 
where a score of duties awaited them. 

Kenneth had just hitched his horse to the Morris 
fence when Molly rode up. Mrs. Morris met them 
both at the gate with a look of undisguised relief on 
her worn and wrinkled face. 

‘T’m so glad you dear children have come by; 
Benny has been so lonely lately, and I haven’t had 
the heart to tell him that tonight’s Christmas Eve.” 
‘‘And he doesn’t know it yet?” asked Kenneth as 
128 


HANEY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


he took the half-trimmed tree carefully from his buck- 
board. ‘‘Then this sure will be a surprise/’ he 
laughed. 

“Oh, you precious children,” cried Mrs. Morris, 
“you can’t mean that for us. Oh, how can I thank 
you?” 

“They’re yours and Benny’s,” said Molly, “and 
we’ll be thanked enough if they cheer your Christmas 
up a little. Keep it all a surprise for Benny, till to- 
night.” 

“Oh, he’ll sure catch on ; he’ll smell that pretty tree 
and those goodies before they’ve been in the house an 
hour,” laughed the delighted mother, as the boy car- 
ried his burden to the back door. 

“How is the little fellow; is he still failing?” asked 
Molly. 

A hopeless, frightened look stole into the weary 
mother’s face. “So poorly, Molly, and Oh! so weak. 
I have to sit up with him much of every night, now.” 

“Poor little chap! Let’s go in and cheer him up, 
Kenneth. May we?” 

“Oh, do, do, children. It will brighten his whole 
day,” exclaimed Mrs. Morris. 

They found the little form propped up with pil- 
lows. He was staring out into the snow, and his eyes, 
dull from constant pain, seemed to see far beyond 
the whitened hills. He started at their entrance and 
turned toward them with a flash of glad surprise. 

129 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


“Oh, Molly! Oh, Kennet! I’s awful glad youVe 
tome,’' he cried in a weak, happy voice. 

Molly rushed over to the bed and kissed him im 
pulsively. 

“You poor, dear little fellow,” she murmured, as 
a frail, soft hand crept into hers. 

“Won’t Trismas an’ Santy tome pitty soon, Molly?” 
he queried after a while. “It’s been snowy a long, 
long time, now — and I saw a man do past ’esterday 
wiv a Trismas tree on his wagon.” 

Molly glanced guiltily at Kenneth who stood over 
by the door. Kenneth smiled helplessly back at the 
teacher. Before Molly could answer the little crip- 
ple’s pleading question he cried out joyfully. His eyes 
had followed Molly’s to Kenneth. 

“Oh, it is Trismas! It is Trismas! There’s some 
Trismas tree on Kennet’ s coat” — and he looked quer- 
ulously from one to the other. Molly forgot 2ier sur- 
prise. 

“Why, bless your heart, Benny, indeed they’ll come 
— ^and this very night. Tonight’s Christmas Eve, lit- 
tle boy — this very night !” 

Benny’s eyes suddenly flashed very bright and he 
looked at Molly joyfully. It seemed as though she 
had only confirmed in the laddie’s mind what he had 
already sensed as inevitably near. But the little face 
suddenly shrank with disappointment, as quickly as 
it had lightened. 


130 


HANEY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


“An’ there’ll be a big Trismas tree at the school- 
house, an’ Santy’ll tome an’ dive all the boys an’ dirls 
presents an’ goodies, tandy an’ nuts an’ everything, 
an’ there’ll be singin’ an’ pieces, an’ — Oh, Molly” — 
tears filled his eyes and the voice broke into a sob. 

“Yes, dear, but ” began Molly soothingly. 

“An’ I tan’t be there. I’s dot to stay in this old 
tired bed.” 

A sudden wave of pity, deeper by far than had ever 
touched them before, swept into both uncrippled 
hearts. Molly’s eyes filled and she clutched more 
tightly the limp, thin hand that lay in hers. Kenneth 
fiercely dashed away a tear that ran down his cheek 
in spite of a stern resolution. It seemed that the 
little fellow on the bed sensed the irony of his merci- 
less lot. 

“Oh, tell him, tell him, Molly,” cried Kenneth at 
last, after a moment of silence that had been too 
long. 

“I’m going to, anyway — I can’t help it,” declared 
Molly. 

“You won’t have to go to the old schoolhouse, 
little man ; you’re going to have a nice Christmas tree 
right here, in your own room by your bed, with its 
candles and spangles and shiny balls — and everything, 
Benny.” 

“Oh, Molly! Oh, Kennet!” exclaimed the weak 
voice gleefully, “really, truly? An’ Santy’ll tome an’ 

131 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


dive me presents? An’ fill my tockin’s wiv nuts an’ 
tandy an’ apples — an’ everything?” Benny’s eyes 
again became very bright. 

‘‘Yes, dear.” 

“An’ bring me a train, an’ a sheepy, an’ maybe 
another woolly doggy ? Oh, Molly, does you ’member 
my ’ittle doggy ’at dot broked?” 

Benny suddenly reached under a pillow and drew 
forth the same little dog — gray, now, but with his 
three legs still crumpled. “I dess he’ll never det any 
worse, Molly,” observed the boy; “I wisht I wouldn’t 
never det any worse.” Somehow, for the instant, the 
boy’s brief five years seemed to swell into wan and 
shriveled manhood; the child gazed wistfully out of 
eyes that groped blindly for what of life he was miss- 
ing. 

Kenneth looked suddenly out of the little, square- 
paned, dusty window; Molly toyed tenderly with the 
frail, blue-veined fingers. Both were silent. Finally 
Benny closed his eyes and seemed to sleep. The girl 
rose softly and tip-toed to the door; it was time for 
them to be at the schoolhouse. As Kenneth silently 
swung back the door Benny called : 

“Molly.” 

“What is it, Benny?” 

“Is you doing home, now, Molly ?” 

“Yes, dear, pretty soon,” she answered, and Ken- 
132 


HANEY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


neth forgave the little fib that saved the boy from 
knowledge of an afternoon of joy that he must miss. 

‘Will Santy sure tome, an’ dive me presents to- 
night — he won’t fordet just tause I’se a ’ittle boy?” 

“Yes, Benny, Santa shall come; I’ll tell him my- 
self,” replied Molly with a quick resolve. 

“Will you tell him I’s just a cripple, an’ sick in bed 
— an’ tan’t do to the schoolhouse ?” 

“Yes, little boy, I’ll tell him — and I’m sure he’ll 
come.” 

“An’ Molly,” went on the trembling voice, “you’ll 
tome back an’ ’ight my Trismas tandles, won’t you?” 

“Yes, dear. I’ll come,” she replied unhesitatingly, 
for that had been a part of her resolve. 

“I’s so glad, Molly,” breathed the little voice with 
a sigh of content; “I don’t tare now if I tan’t do to the 
Trismas tree; everybody just trowded me out last 
year, anyway.” 

Kenneth looked at Molly in consternation when 
they stood once more outside. 

“I can see it would have been mighty hard to dis- 
appoint the little chap, Molly,” said Kenneth, “but it 
looks to me like you’d got into a sort of box. How 
are you going to be at both places at once, and get 
Santa Claus here, besides?” 

“We shan’t disappoint him, Kenneth,” replied 
Molly, “and the way is easy: between the two enter- 
tainments you shall borrow Colonel Hanby’s big, fur 

133 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


coat and Christmas whiskers, and drive me over here 
flying. We can spend an hour and make the happiest 
little boy in Christmasdom — and not miss either en- 
tertainment.’’ 

‘‘Molly, you’re sure an all right girl,” burst out 
Kenneth in admiration. 

“Don’t you think, for a minute, I’d miss Colonel 
Hanby’s fine Christmas speech, and the splendid gift 
I know they’ve got for me. No, no, I’m too selfish 
for that,” laughed Molly, carelessly. 

The afternoon festival, with its bountiful feast, 
its appropriate entertaining program, and twilight 
tree, passed off as smoothly and as successfully as if 
operated by the precision of machinery. Twelve of 
the big boys with their deep straw-bedded wagons 
gathered in the happy crowd, the grandfathers and 
grandmothers as jubilant and childishly gleeful as the 
tots that accompanied them. The feast, to many more 
sumptuous than anything they had enjoyed for years, 
or hoped ever to enjoy again, in its informal sim- 
plicity was preeminently a success — “a brim-filling 
success,” as the colonel put it. A bevy of the larger 
girls, who classed themselves as eligible to the even- 
ing’s performance, with deft and facile fingers, sup- 
plied the wants of the table in a way that imparted 
to the veriest tot the courage to ask freely for a sec- 
ond helping — a third, and yet another — ^without a 
qualm of fear from the stern reproving eyes of pa- 
134 


HANBY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


rental guardians. Out on one side of the curtained 
entry were half a dozen white-robed cowboys, whose 
clever, clattering, disposition of littered tin and china 
was equalled only by the accuracy and speed with 
which another pair brought them from the joyous 
board, and later, clean and packed carefully in proper 
baskets, deposited them in a methodic row beside the 
door. 

The feast had scarcely ended before the great im- 
provised table had been deftly disjointed and carried 
from the room. While the well-filled, happy crowd 
sat or played around, as their fancy impelled, the 
whole room seemed suddenly to have been magically 
transformed from food- and dish-strewn chaos to per- 
fect order. 

The sun was just sinking, gold and orange in the 
west, when the program was announced. Flushed 
with joyous pride, each youngster — for it was ex- 
clusively a children’s program — demeaned himself 
well, for he was secure in the interest and sympathy 
of every eye present. Intuitively they sensed the ab- 
sence of disinterested or coldly critical observers, and 
the best in them came out. 

The shadows had fallen and the room was gray and 
all but dark when the program ended. Then came 
the tree — the children’s tree. No lamps were lighted ; 
instead, more than a hundred candles shone in care- 
less profusion among the silver- and gold-bespangled 

135 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


branches of the lusty spruce, and upon the ledges 
along the wall. While the exclamations of unre- 
pressed delight burst from every childish lip the 
Colonel, arrayed as the typical Santa with his furs 
and rosy, rope-enwhiskered mask, bounded into the 
room. As he, with a hundred merry jests, phenome- 
nally touching the intimate appropriateness of every 
gift, tossed them to the proper owners with a knowl- 
edge amazing to the expectant little fellows, they all 
gave themselves up to unrestrained enjoyment. There 
was a conspicuous absence of the loud-mouthed hi- 
larity of the years preceding. The children did not 
notice it for they were buried in the hour of gladness 
that unquestionably was for them — and them alone. 

Through it all breathed the very spirit of Molly 
Shannon. By some intangible force it was Molly 
that dominated every detail of the day. Both her 
cheeks radiant with the conscious pride of work well 
done, she flitted from place to place, a touch here, a 
word there, oiling the perfect machinery that was fill- 
ing every heart, old and young, with undiluted glad- 
ness. And Molly’s name was on every lip, her praise 
in every discerning eye, for it was Molly who had 
planned the day. One flinty old plainsman, who had 
in previous years sat out the hours in stolid indiffer- 
ence while his children played, found with a start of 
surprise that he had been acting much as a child him- 
self; instantly, just as the last bag of candy was 
136 


HANEY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


tossed to a distant corner, he roared impulsively: 
‘Hurrah for Molly T’ Rough and irrelevant though 
it seemed, a response from every lip rang through the 
room. 

Darkness had by this time settled completely and 
the great moon was just peeping over the eastern hills. 
The bedded wagons stood outside the door and in a 
few minutes the last merry-maker, with his bags of 
candy, his presents, and his bubbling heart, had been 
bundled in, and off for home. With clock-like precis- 
ion, the little group of eager cowboys swept through 
the littered room and in an amazingly short time it 
was in perfect order, ready for the evening. The sec- 
ond tree was borne in, already profusely decorated, 
and set in place. In a few minutes a dozen clever 
girls had finished the work, and they were ready for 
the next and larger crowd of Christmas observers. 

The departing wagons still creaked in the frosty 
snow when Molly and Kenneth started on their flying 
three-mile trip to the Morris cabin. The girl laughed 
merrily at Kenneth, who was grotesque in the moon- 
light, clothed in the colonel’s big fur coat and cap, 
fringed between collar and visor with a bushy array of 
yellow whiskers glued to the florid mask. 

‘T declare, Kenneth, you look just like the colonel 
in that ridiculous uniform — he’s worn it every Christ- 
mas since I came here, and I don’t know how long 
before.” 


137 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘If I can tickle Benny as much as the colonel did 
those youngsters back there, I don’t care how I look,” 
replied Kenneth, muffled through his mask. 

“If you’re just Santa, that’ll send Benny into rap- 
tures of delight,” laughed Molly. 

“Now, you stay outside till the light goes out,” 
commanded Molly when they reached the lonely 
house, “then come galloping in, jingling your bells.” 

Kenneth waited for several minutes. When the 
dim lamp was snuffed he adjusted his whiskers, seized 
the string of sleigh-bells, and bounded into the kitchen. 
Molly was lighting the last candle when he reached 
the bedroom. 

“Oh, Molly, Molly!” shrieked the boy, “is ’is all 
my very, very own ? Oh, there’s Santy 1 Oh, Molly ! 
Wheeeee— 1” 

For twenty minutes the radiant little fellow was 
in ecstasy, now gazing in silent awe at the tall be- 
whiskered Santy who had come, just to see him, now 
noisy with delight at the presents and goodies piled 
around him. Kenneth with tact, and a wealth of 
bluff cheering phrases — copied from the colonel — 
filled the little lad with a cheer he had not felt for 
many a weary month. The silent, glad-eyed mother, 
not forgotten, sat on the foot of Benny’s bed, her 
heart bursting with unspoken gratitude. 

When the boy and girl at last left the tot, all but 
buried under his numberless sacks and toys — ^many 

138 


HANBY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


of them remembrances found on the tree at the 
schoolhouse, — and tip-toed from the room, they 
thought he was asleep, for the happy eyes were closed. 
In either arm was clutched a little, woolly dog, one 
white and clean, the other gray and forlorn, with 
three crumpled legs. 

But he knew when they reached the door ; he called 
in his tiny voice to Molly. 

“Molly, is you doing now?’' was the wistful query. 

“I think I’d better, deary; you’re tired, and want 
to rest.” 

“Molly, I isn’t tired ; I’s just glad ; and I wish you 
wouldn’t do.” 

Molly did not reply at once; she stood near the; 
door, waiting. Kenneth watched her anxiously, fear- 
ful lest she be forced to hurt the child’s sensitive heart, 
and fearful too lest he demand something that Molly 
could not refuse. As they waited both Kenneth and 
Molly thought of the girl’s part in the big entertain- 
ment of the evening and all the gladness that would 
be hers — the righteous pride in things well done and 
the glorious elation of the praise and honor that 
should be given her by the colonel in his speech — ^these 
things flashed through both minds at once. To Molly 
they seemed trivial — nothing; and to Kenneth, even, 
they faded into vague insignificance beside the little, 
yet momentous, drama within these dingy walls. 

“Molly, didn’t you hear ?” asked the plaintive voice 

139 


THE LUCK OF LARAJVIIE RANCH 


again. ‘‘Will you tay wiv me it queried anxiously, 
in childish ignorance of the sacrifice it was demand- 
ing. 

Still Molly did not answer. She looked again at 
Kenneth, as if asking him to decide, and then her 
gaze slowly swept the moonlit, snow-clad plains with- 
out. Kenneth saw with her the gleaming snow, the 
starlit azure of the sky, the night-blue mountains 
toward the west — and the glorious freedom that was 
theirs to enjoy. He thought of Benny, quietly slip- 
ping away from it all. Something came into his 
throat and gripped it fiercely ; he did not blame Molly 
that she should want to stay. He looked at her and 
saw the tears glistening in her eyes though the can- 
dles one by one were burning out. 

“Molly,’' came the voice once more, pleadingly, 
“won’t you tay all night wiv me? Mamma dets so 
tired, an’ the dark tays here so long. Santy, won’t 
you ask her to tay wiv me?” 

The girl hesitated no longer. She rushed to the 
bed and pressed the little hand that stole out toward 
her. 

“Yes, dear boy. I’ll stay all night with you; and 
we’ll let your mamma rest.” 

Kenneth slipped silently out, past the mother who 
had preceded him and now sat with bowed head wait- 
ing, and on into the moonlight. In a few minutes 
Molly came out to him. 


140 


HANBY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


“Well, Molly Kenneth gazed at the girl with an 
admiration wholly unconcealed. He had torn off his 
mask; it seemed too grossly false. 

“Well, Kenneth, I’ve done it — and I’m glad,” 
defiantly. 

“Oh, I’m glad, too, Molly. I was a little afraid 
you wouldn’t; but I know you couldn’t help it. But 
what are we going to do at the entertainment — ^that’s 
what worries me.” 

“Just go right ahead — ^that’s what I came out here 
to tell you. Have Verdie do my work — she under- 
stands. It isn’t much, anyway, but to play the organ ; 
Verdie does that better than I. I’m on the program, 
but strike that off — it won’t be missed.” 

“But the colonel, and the presents, Molly — ^that’s 
the worst,” contended Kenneth, as if hopeful that the 
decision might still be revoked. 

“I thought of all that, Kenneth — awfully; and I’m 
a wee bit afraid it was the hardest thing to give up. 
Poor Colonel !” she laughed. “He’ll feel worse about 
his pretty speech than over my absence.” 

“You’ll miss something mighty good, too, Molly. 
If you only knew what’s stored up for you! Why, 
you never guessed the start of the colonel’s secret.” 

“Oh, tell me, tell me, Kenneth. What were they 
going to give me? You can tell it, now, since I can’t 
be there.” 

“I oughtn’t, Molly,” objected Kenneth feebly. 

141 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘But it’s over — and I can’t come. Please, Kenneth, 
so I can enjoy it while I stay in there with that happy 
little boy.” 

Kenneth could restrain himself no longer. The 
combination of the colonel’s Christmas gift and Molly 
had been a secret that was as hard for him to keep as 
it had been for the colonel. 

“Molly,” he began, “how would you like to ride 
Black Imp?” 

“Don’t be irrelevant, Kenneth; tell me, quick,” de- 
manded the impatient girl, “I must go back to Benny.” 

“Well, how would you like to ride Black Imp, any 
time, all the time, just whenever you take the notion?” 

“Kenneth McGregor, tell me this instant,” com- 
manded Molly. “You don’t mean, surely ” she 

began, half-guessing. 

“I surely do, Molly,” laughed Kenneth. “That’s 
the colonel’s Christmas secret — Black Imp.” 

“Oh — Oh — Oh — Oh!” cried the half-believing 
Molly, “that can’t be so. You’re fooling, Kenneth.” 

“I’m not. The colonel, after the ‘tree’ was over, 
was to take the crowd and you out to the first post 
at the hitching-rack. He was to then make a fine 
speech — how long, nobody could ever guess — and 
finally would pull the blanket off the first horse and 
present him to you ‘as a feeble token of our profound 
esteem’ — I heard him practice that out in his corral 
142 


HANBY’S CHRISTMAS SPEECH 


one day. The horse was to be Black Imp with a fine 
new saddle on him — from the cowboys.” 

‘‘Oh, the dear, dear, old colonel — and the dear 
good-hearted people!” cried Molly, tears of gladness 
streaming down her cheeks. “Now I’m sorry I even 
hesitated for a second over staying with this poor 
little boy ; I’m wicked to have made him ask me more 
than once. Oh, hurry, Kenneth, and tell the old 
colonel and all those cowboys that I — that I — I just 
love them all. And you, Kenneth — I — I thank you, 
too.” 


CHAPTER XII 


TRAPPED IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 

F rom Christmas on, it was a winter long to be 
remembered on Laramie Flats. Frost had 
come early, killing the buffalo grass before it 
cured, and blackening the last stalk of corn and mil- 
let upon which many of the homesteaders depended 
to eke out a meager sustenance for their herds. Hard 
upon came snows treading one on the skirts of an- 
other till New Year’s found the country bleak and 
frozen under a deep mantle of boundless white. Day 
after day of steely, cheerless sunshine could not shake 
the iron grip of winter. It seemed to more than one 
poor family on the plains that the smile of the heav- 
ens had become almost a mockery^ 

When the first great feathery flakes whirled mer- 
rily down upon the McGregors, Kenneth and Arthur 
had shouted in joyous anticipation of what they prom- 
ised. 

‘‘Hooray! Now this is something like. If it just 
keeps up we’ll have the ducks and brant coming in 
by the hundreds. And then for sport and plenty of 
meat!” cried Kenneth. 


144 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


Mr. McGregor did not share his enthusiasm. An 
early winter meant a long one; and that meant deep 
inroads into the stack of hay carefully estimated to 
last an average winter through. Of course the snows 
promised a good season following, but out of years 
of experience the ranchman knew that only the usual 
open weather could ease the strain on many purses 
that were already too thin. He much preferred to 
see the moisture fall in a few heavy, melting storms 
late in the spring. 

The boys got many ducks and geese, and their sport, 
besides, kept the larder full of meat. But when 
February came in with a fierce blast, piling the snow 
to the very roof of their sheds and burying deep the 
last remnant of hay, they began to share Mr. Mc- 
Gregor’s anxiety. Every ton of feed now would cost 
them a weary day lasting from three in the morning 
till late at night, over nearly thirty miles of cheerless 
road, for their own hay in the valley was gone and 
not a straw was to be bought nearer than fifteen 
miles down the river. A few more weeks would fin- 
ish the stack, leaving two of the hardest months 
ahead. To Kenneth, the certainty of the long trips 
to come brought anything but pleasant anticipation, 
for he had hauled up five loads alone the winter before 
Arthur came. 

One windy morning after finishing the chores Ken- 
neth stamped into the kitchen very plainly out of 

145 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


breath and patience. Slapping the chaff and snow 
from his cap he hurled it behind the stove; then he 
sat down to warm his half-frozen hands, though his 
face was red and moist from his work. This had been 
Kenneth’s turn with the chores, for the boys had ar- 
ranged to change about during the cold, wintry morn- 
ings. 

“Ken, you look out of sorts,” ventured Arthur, to 
annoy him. “What’s the matter? Did Midget crawl 
through her stanchion again ? Or would you rather be 
lying out in the snow waiting for geese?” 

Kenneth kicked off both boots and shoved his feet 
into the oven. 

“I am out of sorts — and I’ve got a mighty good 
reason,” he exploded. “This weather is getting most 
awfully tiresome. We’ve shoveled back a six-foot 
drift from the feed doors four times in the last two 
weeks, and so often since Christmas that I’ve lost all 
count. The stack-bottom had fully three feet piled 
over it this morning. Oh, this has been a great win- 
ter — great winter for geese” — Kenneth made a wry 
smile — “but it’s hard on us and the hay.” 

“How much longer do you think the feed will last, 
Kenneth ?” asked Mr. McGregor, with a troubled look. 
“I have hoped against hope that the snow would clear 
off so we could soon turn the stock out to graze a 
few hours a day; that would stretch out the hay till 
the weather moderates. It’s such a cold, hard trip 
146 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


to the valley, now. I’m sorry I sold so much of our 
hay. No one suspected we’d have a winter like this. 
It’s apt to force me to sacrifice those steers on the 
stubble.” 

“The hay can’t possibly hold out till the last of the 
month,” replied Kenneth. “Then will come about two 
of those splendid rides : out on the road long before 
daylight, over thirty miles, twice across the icy river, 
and home again at nine. It isn’t the most enjoyable 
prospect in the world, is it. Art? You’ll get a taste 
of it this year, old boy,” grinned Kenneth at his 
cousin, as if taking pleasure in dividing the prospect 
before them. 

Arthur had never made the long trip with Ken- 
neth. 

“It was jolly enough last fall,” he replied; “but it 
might not be so much fun, now — over this other 
road.” 

“It’s not — just bank on that,” said Kenneth 
brusquely. 

It was nearing the first of March when Mr. Mc- 
Gregor decided that it would be unwise to longer 
delay hauling more feed from the valley. Though 
it was still bitterly cold at night, midday was fast be- 
coming spring-like ; at any moment the weather might 
break, bringing a chinook that would render both 
river and road impassable ; or, continuous March 
winds could easily prevent the handling of hay for 

147 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


days — a contingency, because of the present shortage, 
which must be carefully guarded against. 

''We mustn’t wait any longer, boys,” he announced, 
"so get ready to go tomorrow. I think the day will 
be pleasant. Borrow another rack of Wilson and 
bring up a light load with the ponies. You’ll need 
both teams to get through the river, anyway, and 
the two wagons will bring up enough to last till grass, 
or till I can arrange to find forage for some of the 
older stock. Suppose, while you are down there to- 
morrow, you see who will take the steers for the bal- 
ance of the winter — the stubble will no longer feed 
them.” 

Four o’clock found the little caravan on the way, 
Kenneth’s team in the lead, Arthur’s tied behind. The 
wheels ground out a harsh, metallic symphony as they 
rolled through the crisp snow of the seldom-traveled 
road. The moon shone cold and blue in the west, 
seemingly congealed by the frost that sparkled 
in the air. Kenneth, to keep himself warm, had knot- 
ted his reins to a corner of the wagon and was trot- 
ting along at the side, swinging his arms briskly 
against his body. Arthur was buried under a little 
pile of stray in his wagon, with half a dozen blankets 
tucked around him; he was already lulled back to his 
interrupted sleep by the monotonous swaying. For 
miles no sound but the creaking of the racks broke 
in upon the incessant music of the wheels. 

148 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


Finally the gray dawn gave way to smiling morn 
as the sun peeped up over the edge of the whitened 
world. They were just off the vast plateau upon 
which the ranch was located, and had begun the long, 
rolling slope which ended in the bluffs constituting 
the north bank of the Las Animas, the biggest tribu- 
tary of the Platte. Where these rivers joined was a 
broad, fertile, irrigated valley, but it was all on the 
opposite side. 

This river, like the Platte and many another flow- 
ing over gently sloping plains a thousand miles to the 
sea, had spent ages in carving out a little valley, 
broadened and leveled by oxbow cut-offs and the allu- 
via of countless floods. Along this highway, ranging 
from a few hundred yards to half a dozen miles in 
width, meandered the stream, itself varying from a 
single channel to a sandy mile-wide bed dotted with 
scores of long sharp-pointed islands. Its channels, 
many of them dry through most of the year, 
branched, rebranched, and divided again like some in- 
tricate design, but only to unite at the first defile in 
the hills. 

Here and there along its course a number of tribu- 
taries dropped down from the plateau, some flowing 
throughout the year from their sources in the foot- 
hills to the west, others merely dry beds known as 
arroyas, rolling in bank-full and treacherous after 
every violent storm. It was from these, with their 
149 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


sudden freshets and vast deposits of quicksand, that 
the river took its name. The Rio de las Animas — 
River of Souls, or of Lost Souls, as the superstitious 
Spaniards termed it centuries ago, was the sepulcher 
of many a victim. Early in the history of the state 
from which it flows, a little party of scouts in quest 
of a new Eldorado turned back to hasten their lag- 
ging comrades. They reached the bank of an arroya 
to find it a raging flood, pouring its yellow mud far 
out into the river. In two hours the waters subsided 
so that the scouts could cross. They found the camp 
broken and followed the tracks to the first bank of 
the arroya. There were none but their own on the 
other side. Somewhere in the treacherous sand of 
the river were their friends. A search for hours re- 
vealed nothing but the black stock of a single musket 
sticking from the mud a mile below. So the Spaniards 
called it The River of Lost Souls. 

When Kenneth and his cousin reached the sharp 
incline leading down to the ford the sun was well up 
and already assailing the snow in the shelter of the 
clumps of sage and mesquite. At this point the river 
was broken into six or eight channels, each running 
strong, as Kenneth saw with surprise. He stopped 
the teams and wakened Arthur. 

**Crawl out of there, you sleepy-head,'* he called. 
“We've come to the river, the sun is up, and it's get- 
ting warm. You'll have to drive your own team 

150 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


across for Fm afraid to lead them with so much ice 
coming down/’ 

Arthur flung off his blankets and jumped to his 
feet. 

‘‘All right,” he cried. “What a stupid I’ve been to 
sleep for thirteen miles. Gracious me, how the river 
is up! Why, there’s lots more water than usual. 
What’s raised it so?” 

“Big ice jam down at the forks,” replied Kenneth, 
handing Arthur his reins and turning back to his own 
wagon. “You can see the cakes piled six feet deep 
down there on the islands. The whole river seems to 
be backed up and is running around across Pawnee 
Flats. We’ll have to load a little light.” 

They found the streams full of slush and huge 
blocks of ice loosed from their winter moorings by 
the warmer days of approaching spring. Though 
the water was deep it moved sluggishly, offering but 
little resistance to their passage. They encountered 
the only interruption near the middle of the river. 
The central channel was not ordinarily deeper than 
the rest but just now there seemed to be a smaller 
jam across the lower ends of two of the islands that 
formed its banks; instead of a flowing stream it was 
merely a lagoon nearly a foot deeper than the chan- 
nels at either side. Evidently the dam had closed up 
but a few hours before as the coating of ice was thin ; 
but the horses refused to breast it till Kenneth had 

151 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


started a passage with his fork. An occasional yell 
burst from Arthur as the icy water of this channel 
lapped into the bed of his wagon. The remaining 
streams were easily forded. 

It took the boys more than four hours to load and 
tie down the hay, so that it was after twelve o’clock 
when they drove over the ranchman’s scales. Ken- 
neth stuck the tickets into his pockets after noting 
that each wagon carried about a ton — a, little less on 
the one drawn by the ponies. 

‘"Tell your father I’m obliged to charge him a 
pretty stiff price for this hay, on account of the short- 
age. These two loads are all you can have. I don’t 
believe there’s another ton in the valley to spare, 
either. I marked the price on the tickets — ^$26 per 
ton. And say, my lads. I’d advise you to keep a sharp 
lookout when you cross that river. If the jam goes, 
don’t let it catch you in the middle of a stream — 
she’ll drain off mighty fast. Get up on an island and 
wait.” 

When they reached the ford again they unhitched 
Arthur’s team and hooked them in the lead of Ken- 
neth’s. 

“Now, Art,” said Kenneth as he climbed back on 
the hay, “I’ll take this load across alone — I can handle 
the team all right. It will be half an hour before I 
get back, so I want you to run up and see two or three 
of the nearest ranchers about more hay. Find out 

152 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 

about pasture, too. I hardly think Bid well was 
right.^^ 

Adjusting his lines he started with the first load, 
shouting back a word of assurance to his cousin, who 
seemed reluctant to remain. 

^‘Now don’t get uneasy, Art. The four can snake 
us through without a bit of trouble.” 

Arthur watched the big load slide down the first 
bank and draw slowly away. Anxiously, as he went 
the rounds of the nearest farmers, he followed it 
across the channels, breathing with relief when it rose 
to the top of intervening islands. Finally he yelled in 
delight to see the great bulk crawl up the steep bank, 
half a mile away. 

When Kenneth reached a level spot above the river 
he blocked one wheel and unhitched the two teams. 
After a short breathing spell he tied them one to the 
other in single file, hooked the whiffle-trees and chain 
over the hames of the steadiest, and plunged back 
into the ford, mounted on the leader. 

made it easy,” he called out jubilantly when 
he rode up the other bank again and dismounted. 
‘The water seemed just a trifle higher, but it isn’t 
moving much. What did you find out about hay or 
pasture ?” 

Arthur shook his head and began to help with the 
teams. 

“Bidwell was right — none to be had.” 

153 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth did not reply to this disquieting news. 

worried over what Mr. Bidwell said about the 
river,” went on Arthur as the traces were being 
hooked. “The jam has been popping like a gun ever 
since you started across. Can^t you hear it now? 
Listen. ... It crashes just like the ice were 
breaking loose. What if the whole thing should go 
out while we are in the water !” 

“It can't back up much more — ^that's certain,” con- 
ceded Kenneth. “But there’s no danger. If we see 
her begin to move, we’ll just climb up on the next 
island and wait for the water to shoot past — ^that is, 
if we must; we can’t afford to waste any time, with 
fourteen miles ahead of us.” 

Kenneth again took the lines, for Arthur had never 
driven a four-horse team. 

When they had reached the middle of the second 
channel a sharp booming crash came echoing from the 
jam below ; it was followed instantly by a dull, grind- 
ing roar, as of rushing waters. Arthur clutched at 
his cousin with a cry of alarm. 

“Say, Kent, she’s breaking loose ; she’s going out !” 

“She does seem to be going,” said Kenneth easily, 
though unconsciously he urged on the straining teams. 
“I thought it couldn’t hold much longer, for you can 
see that the new ice has blocked up the flat where the 
water got around. Something had to give.” 

“Say, Kent, what’ll we do? How’re we going to 

154 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


get out of here ? This water and ice will be shooting 
past here like a mill-race in a little while/* cried 
Arthur, plainly alarmed. 

“Come now, Art; don’t be scared,” laughed Ken- 
neth. “We’ve got lots of time. It will be a long time 
before the water can drain off enough to affect us 
here. We may get clear across.” 

“Now, Kent, don’t run any risks^ — remember what 
Mr. Bid well said. You’ve got to stop on the very 
next island till we can see just what’s going to hap- 
pen.” 

Kenneth drove on, however, explaining that the 
gradually increasing speed of the water would warn 
them in ample time to get out. They crossed two 
more channels before the ice began to set freely 
toward the east. The horses were wincing a little 
under the impact of the blocks that jammed against 
them, so Kenneth pulled up on the next island and 
waited. 

“The water doesn’t seem to be running any faster,” 
he observed after a pause of several minutes; “it 
looks as though there’s but one narrow break in the 
jam. We might as well try to make it the rest of the 
way, for there’s no telling how long we’ll be cooped 
up here at this rate.’^ 

“Don’t you tackle it,” commanded Arthur. “It’s 
a whole lot better to be perched up here safe than to 
run the risk of having the horses driven out of the 

155 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


ford by those big chunks of ice. Now, just suppose 
we did get out in the middle and you couldn’t hold 
the leaders to the road — we might never get out 
alive.” 

‘"Bosh!” laughed Kenneth scornfully. ‘‘We’re not 
in any danger; but, of course, there’s no sense in tak- 
ing useless risks. Hay and horses come too high for 
that.” 

After nearly ten minutes of impatient waiting they 
saw that the water had gained nothing in velocity, 
and in fact seemed to be growing sluggish again. 
Kenneth decided to go on. 

“Time’s too precious to fool around here,” he told 
Arthur; “Fm going. I think the break has closed 
up again, which means that the longer we wait, the 
deeper the water ahead of us.” 

Arthur did not protest, but held his breath as they 
rolled down into the next channel, for to him the 
simple crossing was a situation grave enough without 
the added danger of being caught in the rush of icy 
waters. Again they were warned by a second series 
of crashing booms from the jam below. 

“She sure means business,” observed Kenneth, “but 
I think we can beat it now.” 

The water around them was soon moving percep- 
tibly faster. 

“See that? Just look!” cried Arthur. “I wish we 
had never tried to cross. Fm just sure we are 

156 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


going to have an awful time. See how much faster 
the ice is running already. In a few minutes she’ll 
be fairly racing past.” 

"Well, we won’t try to go any farther than across 
the big channel. We’ve got plenty of time for that. 
It’s blocked up anyway, and can’t break loose till the 
water is drained out below. We’ll stop on the other 
side and wait.” 

Though this stream was not apparently higher than 
when they had crossed several hours before, the water 
came well upon the horses’ sides, forcing them to pull 
at a great disadvantage. When nearly across one of 
the young wheelers half paused to rest. This was the 
one thing that Kenneth feared the most with the 
heavy load: once stopped it would be far more diffi- 
cult to start again. Jumping upright he yelled at the 
teams, slashing at the delinquent colt with his long 
whip. 

"‘Billy! Billy!” he shouted. ""Get into the collar, 
you lazy little scalawag!” 

Billy leaped ahead, jerking back his mate who had 
eased up irresolutely. The veteran leaders bent nobly 
to the added burden, but it was too much for them, 
alone. The uniformity of the pull had been broken, 
so that after a moment of futile jerks Kenneth ceased 
his urging and sat down. 

"‘That was certainly a fool thing for me to let them 
do,” he growled in disgust, “but I was watching the 

157 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


water instead of my horses. Here we are, stopping 
to rest in the very middle of the hardest pull, and the 
leaders not more than a dozen feet from the bank. 
I call that bright. If we stick, there’ll be no one to 
blame but myself. Suppose we shouldn’t get started 
again, Art. Wouldn’t we be in a fix?” Kenneth 
turned now to his frightened cousin with a look of 
growing dismay. 

‘‘Oh, you don’t think we’re stuck!” cried Arthur, 
jumping to his feet. “Hurry, hurry! Let’s start 
them again before the wheels have time to settle. 
We’ve got to get out of here.” 

“We’ve got to rest a minute, first, or the ponies 
will weave around till the front end is in to the hubs. 
Then we will be stuck for good and all.” 

The leaders swayed nervously in the icy water, and 
Kenneth found it difficult to hold them to the ford 
while the ponies could rest. When he started them 
again after a moment’s pause the two teams jerked 
unevenly several times before they could be held for 
a steady pull together. When at last they seemed 
ready to start in unison the near wheeler suddenly 
snorted and twisted oddly away from the tongue. 
Kenneth thought perhaps a block of ice had struck 
the pony’s legs so reined in the leaders until the colt 
could recover from his apparent nervousness. 

Then he gave the signal again: “Billy — Moll — 
Dick — Buck! All together, now.” 

158 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


The four started together nicely, but the instant 
the leaders tightened their chain that ran along under 
the tongue Billy again snorted, this time plunging 
his head half under the water. 

“Billy, Billy! What's the matter with you?" 
shouted Kenneth. 

The wagon started and moved ahead several feet, 
the pony bobbing along with strange, uncertain leaps, 
each time plunging his nose under water. Kenneth 
saw there was something wrong, so drew rein; but 
before the leaders were checked Billy reared and 
came down with one leg over the whiffletrees ahead. 
He jerked back frenziedly for a few seconds, then 
toppled over sidewise into the stream. 

“Oh, my goodness. Art! Billy's down! He's got 
a leg caught — or something,” shouted Kenneth, tug- 
ging furiously at the reins in the hope that the horse 
would recover. 

At first the pony thrust his head well out and 
struggled wildly to regain his feet. But as the boys 
peered down over the edge of their load, spellbound 
for the moment, he gradually ceased and his head 
sank slowly into the water. 

“Kent ! Kent !” yelled Arthur wildly, “he'll drown ! 
He'll drown! Can't you pull him up?” He leaped 
to his feet and bounded frantically over the hay, as 
if for something with which to work. 

The white nose was just at the water's edge when 

159 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth awoke from his stupid daze and realized 
that Billy was drowning helplessly before his eyes. 
Suddenly he thrust the two pairs of lines into Arthur’s 
trembling hands and shouted a terse command, at 
the same instant stripping off coat and vest. 

‘Here, Art — ^hold those leaders straight ahead, if 
you’ve got to break an arm to do it.’" 

Then with an agile spring he dropped to the stand- 
ing wheeler’s back and jumped waist-deep into the 
icy water beside the helpless pony. Seizing the sub- 
merged head he jerked it up, heedless of the hoofs 
that might strike him down. 

Billy instantly renewed his struggles but Kenneth 
held tenaciously to his head till it once more relaxed 
in exhaustion. He had noticed that the pony threw 
himself horizontally rather than vertically, so con- 
cluded that he must be entangled in the chain that 
ran along the tongue. When the horse became quiet 
he felt under the water with his foot to ascertain, if 
possible, the cause of the trouble. 

“Loosen the wheelers’ reins,” he ordered presently. 
“You’re pulling Billy’s head down. He’s got one 
foot caught in the head whiffletrees, and I think the 
other is over the chain. He can’t get on his feet, no 
matter how hard he tries.” 

“Then how on earth can we ever get him loose?” 
cried Arthur. 

As they both stood there helpless, Kenneth strain- 
160 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


ing in icy water nearly to his shoulders, Arthur high 
up on the load tugging with all his might at the im- 
patient leaders' reins, they heard again in the moment 
of their own silence the crashing of the ice floes in 
nearby channels, and from far below the boom of the 
breaking jam. 

‘What’s happening down at the bend?” asked Ken- 
neth suddenly. “Can you see?” 

Arthur flashed a look down the river, then stared 
ahead and behind the wagon in wild-eyed fear. “It’s 
nearly all gone out, and the water in the channels on 
both sides of us is just boiling along.” 

“Then we can expect to see the blockade at the end 
of these two islands go pretty soon. There’ll be noth- 
ing below to hold it. Great Caesar, Art! I hope it 
doesn’t catch us like this.” 

Arthur choked back a sob, for in spite of one extra 
year he was still less of a man than Kenneth. “Oh, 
Ken, what shall we do?” he cried. “Why didn’t we 
stay back on the island? If you had just — — ” 

“Brace up. Art,” exclaimed Kenneth sharply. 
“Wait till we’re out of this, or — or till we find we 
can’t get out, before you whine. Think of something 
to do, instead. If I just had some other way to keep 
Billy’s head out of water, maybe I could get him 
loose.” 

“Maybe I can help more down there than here — 
i6i 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


shall I began Arthur, calmer again after Ken- 

neth’s reproof. 

‘‘No, no. You just stay where you are. You’ve 
got to hold these leaders in line. If I could only tie 
Billy’s head up some way till I can get him untangled. 
I just can’t let him — let him go; but it’s about all I 
can do to hold on.” Kenneth was breathless, and 
the strain in the ice-cold water was beginning to wear 
him out. 

“Say, Kent, just hang on. I’m coming right down 
there,” declared Arthur, detecting the sign of weak- 
ness in his cousin. 

“Don’t, Art. For goodness’ sake!” shouted Ken- 
neth. “You’ve simply got to hold the leaders steady 
or they’ll get us into a worse tangle. I believe I’ve 
thought of a scheme, anyway — if I can only man- 
age it.” 

Cautiously edging around to the side, he reached 
down, still holding tight to the pony’s head, down till 
the water was swirling about his ears. He rose with 
the loosened check rein in his free hand. Quickly un- 
buckling the rings which held it he lifted Billy’s head 
a little higher and tossed the rein over the hames of 
the standing mate. 

“Now,” he cried, encouragingly — ^but just then the 
jam at the lower end of the channel began an ominous, 
grinding roar, as though it were being slowly pushed 
along by the great volume of water above it — “we’re 
162 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


in for it,” he finished with a groan. **We haven’t a 
second to waste. I’ve got to unhook every one of 
these other horses and get them out of the way so I 
can look out for Billy. Toss the long reins down- 
stream — quick!” he commanded. “Untie the rope.” 

There was no time to spend with the fallen horse, 
so Kenneth gritted his teeth and again dipped into 
the water, this time to free the leaders’ tugs. He 
found it to be difficult, for Billy’s entangled foot bore 
the double-trees backward. But he finally succeeded 
and instantly drove the first team up the bank where 
they seemed glad to stand quietly. 

Plunging back into the water he seized the rope 
that Arthur had loosed and tossed down to him, and 
made a hackamore on Billy’s head. 

“Take your end. Art, and loop it around the stand- 
ard. Now, as I lift Billy’s head, pull up all the 
slack — ^and hold it — every inch. If we save him, it’ll 
be up to you.” 

The ice jam was still crashing below, and the water 
in the lagoon was beginning to flow briskly past them. 
The huge chunks of ice struck heavily against Ken- 
neth’s body until he groaned with the pain. The 
standing pony was crowding the tongue in a vain 
effort to avoid them. 

“Now what are you going to do?” demanded Ar- 
thur anxiously, when Kenneth turned away from 
Billy. 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

‘‘Get loose this other horse.” 

By the time he had unhitched and ridden him out 
to the island the water was running swiftly, the great 
masses of ice crashing and grinding frightfully 
against the broadside of the wagon gears. He took 
a moment to tie the three horses to a small cotton- 
wood, then dashed boldly back into the racing flood. 
In a step or two he felt that its force would carry 
him past the wagon so turned back and jumped in 
again at a point thirty feet above the ford. The tor- 
rent and pounding ice bore him along, but by battling 
fiercely he was able to get near enough to seize the 
taut rope on Billy’s head. 

Steadying himself for a moment he jammed at the 
whiffletrees with one foot till he felt the pony’s hoof 
come loose, and saw the wooden trees bob up to the 
surface. 

“Now, old boy, if you’ve got any spunk you’ll find 
your feet. Loosen up a little,” he shouted to Arthur, 
who stood white-faced and trembling on the hay. 

Arthur allowed the rope to slip around the standard 
until the pony’s head was about to sink again. 

“Give him his head,” commanded Kenneth, as the 
rope tightened. 

“But he’ll go under again,” protested Arthur. 

“Never mind that — he’s loose. Hurry, for I’m 
about dead.” 

As Arthur reluctantly obeyed, the pony’s head sank 
164 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


till his nose touched the water. Then, with one 
violent lunge he freed himself from the lagging chain 
and got to his feet. 

Kenneth was waiting to loose tugs and neck-yoke 
the instant the horse was up. It took up a moment, 
though he was forced to hold with one hand to the 
rope to keep from being swept from his feet. Then 
he jumped to the pony's back and started for the 
bank. 

“Don’t climb down. Art,” he called back. “You’re 
safe. Just take it easy till the water runs out.” 

“But what are you going to do, Ken?” demanded 
Arthur, suddenly aware that his cousin had been more 
than waist-deep in the icy water for nearly half an 
hour. “You’ll catch your death of cold if you don’t 
get out of those clothes.” 

“I guess not. After Billy and I get our blood mov- 
ing again we’ll be all right.” 

For another half hour Kenneth and the pony trot- 
ted back and forth across the island until they were 
steaming in the midday sun. The ice-filled water 
raged past for a few minutes, but by the end of the 
half hour it had subsided to its normal depth — little 
more than a foot. From far below, however, still 
came the dull roar of the floes as they crashed on 
down the river. 

Kenneth then waded back into the quiet channel, 
and together the boys hooked up the teams once more. 

165 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


They were soon out of the river and on their way 
to the ranch. 

“Well,” laughed Kenneth, when the tension of the 
trying moment had passed, “weVe still got the horses 
and we’ve got the precious hay, and I’ve got a mighty 
wet lot of clothes hanging to me. You’re pretty wet, 
too. Art.” 

“Just my legs. But you’ll sure be sick from what 
you’ve gone through.” 

“No danger. I’ll trot along on the sunny side here, 
and be dry in an hour.” 

Nevertheless, their clothes were frozen stiff when 
the wagons creaked into the yard late that night. 
Mrs. McGregor hustled them off to bed with steaming 
gruel and hot irons, while Mr. McGregor cared for 
the teams. 

The ranchman’s first question, after a word of 
praise, was about the hay. 

“Can we be sure of more feed for the steers?’' he 
asked. 

“Not a straw. Father. It's all gone,” replied Ken- 
neth soberly from his bedroom. “There's no pas- 
ture left, either.” 

“Then this simply means that they must go on the 
market at once — and with prices dead. We’ll lose 
several hundred dollars.” 

Within the month Mr. McGregor sent two cars of 
steers to Omaha. Instead of bringing a good price 

i66 


IN THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 


as grass- fed cattle, ready for the block, they went as 
feeders, at a great sacrifice. The loss was figured at 
three hundred dollars. 

“That sure puts a crimp in our plans,’’ observed 
Kenneth ruefully. “We’ll never make it up with 
what we sell next fall.” 

“Looks like we’d have to jump in and take a couple 
of the big purses when Sterling has her Frontier Day 
next August,” suggested Arthur, half in jest. “Sup- 
pose you brush up your riding and gather in the 
broncho-riding prize — there’s three hundred in that. 
Then, I wonder if Spunk couldn’t be track-broken by 
fall; he’d show off mighty well in the half-mile for 
two-year-olds — and there’s fifty in that. Let’s make 
a try.” 

Kenneth was at first indifferent, but presently he 
straightened in his chair, suddenly alert to his 
cousin’s suggestion. 

“By Jiminy, Art! They’re worth trying for. We 
won’t be hurt by losing — and if we win ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


REAL VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 

T here was no dash between the McGregors 
and Jones throughout the winter. In the 
spring when grass was once more plentiful 
they made a careful count of the stock before turning 
them out again. To their surprise and consternation 
there were four yearlings gone from the herd kept at 
the ranch. They were fed in the corral so it seemed 
that there had been little chance for them to stray 
away. Jones had kept close to the ranch at the 
Buttes, but McGregor had the uneasy feeling that, 
nevertheless, the wily stockman had been ‘'breaking 
even'’ — a conclusion strengthened by the sudden and 
mysterious encroachment of Warner's sheep. There 
was no evidence, however, upon which to base any 
accusation so McGregor was forced to silence; he did 
not mention his loss, even to his neighbors. 

The fall before, after the final count, there had 
been ninety-eight calves from a possible one hundred 
ten — six of the twelve having disappeared, the prob- 
able prey to rustlers. To the Scot the circumstances 
all pointed to a single conclusion: the man who had 

i68 


REAL VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 


the courage to openly accuse Roarer Jones of rustling 
was paying for his temerity. A secret count of the 
Jones’ herd revealed the fact that the increase for 
two seasons far exceeded even a fair expectation. 

Of course, as every rustler must have reasoned, 
depredations of the wolves and coyotes could account 
for loss of calves; any excess might easily be ex- 
plained by bills of sale. At any rate, in this latter 
day, absolute proof is demanded before a suspected 
thief can be brought to justice. The summary deal- 
ings of thirty years ago, when snap- judgment carried 
many a cow- or horse-thief to his deserts, no longer 
obtain, though it is strongly suspected that the old 
system judiciously employed may still teach whole- 
some lessons. 

McGregor realized that, to save himself from seri- 
ous embarrassment, he must in some manner get 
absolute proof of Roarer’s thieving. A plan that had 
long been forming in his mind finally took shape. He 
suspected that no inconsiderable portion of the meat 
shipped out by the boys from their shop had been 
stolen; but of course to prove it was practically im- 
possible. Nevertheless, he felt that a careful watch 
at the station might, if systematic, develop facts that 
would ultimately lead to tangible clues. Accordingly, 
he took Kenneth and Arthur into his confidence and 
fully explained his plan. The boys were to take turns 
observing at the depot at Sterling, secretly, to ascer- 
169 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


tain the amount, probable age, and destination of the 
beef shipped out by the Jones brothers. There were 
but two express trains daily, one each way, passing 
each other there at seven o’clock in the morning, so the 
undertaking would be comparatively easy. It was 
thought that a month’s quiet observation would show 
the usual methods of the shippers. Two of the neigh- 
boring ranchmen, both of whom were certain that 
Jones had preyed upon their herds — one of them 
Colonel Hanby — were to learn through their riders 
the source and amount of the daily supply of beef, and 
to discover, if possible, the rapidity with which the 
Jones’ fat steers disappeared. They had little assur- 
ance of the success of the plan, but they felt it to be 
the only logical way to proceed. 

It was soon discovered that the only ones shipping 
beef out of Sterling were the Jones boys. Kenneth 
and Arthur, alternately, made the long ride to the 
depot and rode casually past at a distance just as the 
trains were due; one glance at the trucks loaded for 
shipment sufficed to compute the number of quarters ; 
from the location of the trucks it was a simple mat- 
ter to determine the amount each way a day. It 
was found that three times a week, regularly, an 
average of four beeves at a shipment went westward 
toward Denver; once a week as many went to the 
smaller towns below. It was learned, also, that the 
meat invariably reached the depot after night. 

170 


REAL VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 

The boys reported their findings daily to Mr. Mc- 
Gregor who, with the information gained from the 
other men in his confidence, soon reached the con- 
clusion that much more beef was being shipped out 
than the Jones Bros. Market killed at their slaughter 
houses. It was certain, therefore, that the excess 
came from the upper ranch. 

Usually the McGregor boys rode past the depot 
without dismounting, but one morning Kenneth ex- 
pected his father in from Denver on the east-bound 
express, so took that as an excuse to tie his pony 
to the red board fence near by and saunter upon the 
platform. He noticed the usual truck-load of meat 
at the west end, so walked idly toward it. There 
were three full beeves, quartered. Kenneth looked at 
them for a moment then leaned against the truck to 
wait for the east-bound train. Presently the west- 
bound, with the right-of-way, rumbled in on the main 
tracks. After the agent, the night-man still on duty, 
had run the truck up to the car, Ed Jones, Roarer’s 
oldest son, slouched out of the depot and helped with 
the meat. Just as the last quarter, but one, was 
tumbled through the door Kenneth was amazed to 
see a brand showing faintly on the yellow meat. The 
letters, I I J, the Jones brand, were legible, standing 
out in purplish-red outlines, similar to an old blue-red 
scar. 

The full significance of the discovery flashed into 
171 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth’s mind at once. Involuntarily, he leaped 
toward the truck and peered intently at the remaining 
quarter. 

Jones saw Kenneth’s sudden interest. ‘‘What’s the 
matter, kid?” he demanded roughly. “Anything 
wrong with that meat? Say, what’re ye hanging 
around here for, anyway?” 

“Waiting for father; he’s coming in on the east- 
bound from Denver,” replied Kenneth, vexed that he 
had not been more discreet. 

“He is, eh? Well, what was wrong with that 
beef?” Ed demanded a second time. 

“Oh, nothing,” replied Kenneth carelessly. “Just 
thought I saw an old wire-cut.” 

Jones did not press his query, but leaped from 
the truck and strode off down town as though satis- 
fied with the boy’s answer. 

Mr. McGregor came in on the next train, as ex- 
pected, got his horse from the livery-stable where he 
always kept it when away on such trips, and rode off 
with Kenneth. 

“Father,” broke out the boy after nearly a mile in 
silence, “how deep does a brand burn? Ever more 
than skin-deep?” 

McGregor was familiar with the lad’s irrelevant 
questions after long periods of abstraction, so he was 
not surprised. 

“That all depends on the man, Kenneth; some de- 
172 


REAL VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 


dare that simply burning off the hair will kill it and 
make a lasting brand; others are not content till the 
seared flesh comes off with the iron ; our own way, to 
burn till the brand shows ‘cherry,’ is a medium be- 
tween the two extremes. The first is uncertain; the 
second, needlessly cruel; ours, neither. Why do you 
ask?” 

“Does the brand often show on the flesh under the 
hide?” 

McGregor laughed tolerantly. “I don’t think so, 
my boy, though I’ve heard a dozen cranks declare that 
a good brand ought to be more than skin-deep. I’ve 
never seen such a thing, but, as a matter of fact, I 
have never paid the least attention. I should give it 
as my opinion, though, that there might in some few 
cases be a slight indentation under the brand, but 
illegible so far as determining the real marks.” 

“I was sure I saw a brand on one of the quarters 
shipped out this morning. The light was poor, but 
I could see some purplish-red lines that looked exactly 
like a brand — sort of like an old scar.” 

McGregor was instantly attentive. “Now there 
might be something in it, after all. Could you make 
out the figures?” 

“It looked like Double I J.” 

“Their own brand,” said Mr. McGregor. “I 
shouldn’t be much surprised, for they burn deep. 
That may be worth watching, Kenneth,” he observed. 

173 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


“If one brand will show, others will, too,” said 
the boy, “and I’m going to keep my eye open. There 
must be stuff going out with something else besides 
Double I J on.” 

“Be very careful you don’t let them see you, Ken- 
neth,” cautioned the father. “Once they find we are 
watching they’ll be on their guard.” 

For several weeks Kenneth kept watch at the 
depot, dodging in to examine the trucks only when 
it was evident that none of the Jones’s were there. 
During that time he found an occasional quarter on 
which marks were discernible, though in each case so 
indistinct as to be illegible. Some of the marks were 
but a faint colorless depression, distinguishable under 
keen observation. There were several times that Ken- 
neth imagined he could again trace the faint outlines 
of the Double I J. 

Some time later it occurred to him that if he could 
examine the meat when the boys took the trouble 
to help with the loading he might find a reason for 
their attention. In all cases when the marks had been 
at all legible there had been none of the boys about 
the depot ; since the marks must have been noticed by 
the shippers there was a possibility that any but that 
bearing their own brand would be guarded till started 
on its destination, and away from suspicious ob- 
servers. So the next trip down he tied his pony some 
distance away and went cautiously toward the depot. 

174 


REAL VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 


He could never be sure that the boys were not some- 
where about till the trains came in, so always waited ; 
he could not afford to be caught spying among the 
trucks. When it appeared that the agent was alone 
Kenneth would saunter across the platform, carelessly 
observing the loaded meat. As usual, he was afraid 
to venture out in the open, so loitered back of the 
section-house. The trains came in and he saw the 
agent come out alone and push the truck at the west 
end to the car door, the Denver-bound passenger 
having the right-of-way, as usual. Kenneth was satis- 
fied that no one was there, so slipped over to the 
platform and examined the truck at the east end. 
To his amazement and satisfaction the first quarter 
that he saw bore H 8, plainly discernible from his 
place at the end of the depot, twenty feet away. Ken- 
neth had taken every precaution to disarm the sus- 
picion of the station-agent, so dared not step away 
from behind the building; in his excitement, however, 
he could not restrain a step forward, hoping to see 
other accusing marks. 

In this position he was startled by a heavy step 
behind him ; he whirled, to be confronted by the coarse 
face of Ed Jones, leering at him from the corner. 

‘‘See something this time, kid?” came a snarling 
voice. 

Kenneth straightened and tried to appear uncon- 
cerned. In his startled surprise he was unable to 

175 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


reply at once. Jones strode up to the truck and 
shoved a heavy finger against the purple lines. 

"'That's what you’re here for, is it? That’s what 
I caught you starin’ at before, eh?” He advanced 
menacingly toward Kenneth as the boy shrank back 
toward the corner of the building, fascinated by the 
hate in the cowboy’s eyes. ‘‘So you’ve been spyin’ 
around here ever since, waitin’ for this. Well, what’re 
you goin’ to do, now you’ve found out somethin’?” 
By this time he had reached the lad; he seized him 
in an ugly grasp and crushed him backward against 
the end of the depot. “What’re you goin’ to do, 
you whelp?” Jones shook his victim roughly, cursing. 

“Lookee here, you spy,” went on the rustler, “I’ve 
got no time to fool with you — just one word: your 
dad’s got you here sneakin’ around this beef — lay in’ 
for us; you think you’ve found out somethin’, but if 
you squeal one word of what you saw or what I 
say — I’ll kill you. I’ll know by what your dad does — ' 
so remember. The first move he makes, I kill ’im 
like a dog — see? Then you go the same road. If 
you want to save your hides, quit spyin’ and keep 
your mouth shut.” With this brutal threat, Jones 
hurled Kenneth savagely away from him, and strode 
over to the truck, where stood the agent with an odd 
grin on his face. 

Kenneth rose to his feet from where he had been 
thrown, turned and saw the half-frightened look on 
176 


REAL VANDALS OF THE PLAINS 


the face of the agent, then went meekly to his horse. 
On the way to the ranch he fought the battle of his 
life — and for his life. After months of persevering 
search, absolute proof had been discovered of the 
thieves that for years had been a menace to the whole 
valley; at the same moment his lips were sealed by 
threats against his own and his father’s life — threats 
that he knew only too well would be made good, even- 
tually, should this matter be pushed. As he fought 
for an answer to his own problem, he realized that 
each moment of delay meant everything to the value 
of his evidence; none but him, Ed Jones, and the 
agent, knew of the discovery; meanwhile the branded 
quarters, the real proof, hastened to the block; a 
few hours meant the effacement of all proof. The 
rustlers would see that the like did not happen again. 
Suddenly it flashed upon Kenneth that Ed Jones 
cleverly expected his dire threat to be effective only 
for a brief period, while fear bound him, Kenneth; 
a day’s delay, and action would be too late, for there 
would be no proof but the word of a boy. A speedy 
resolve drove doubt and fear from Kenneth’s mind; 
he spurred for home, where he told his father halt- 
ingly of his discovery and Ed Jones’ threats. 

“Never mind, my boy,” said Mr. McGregor ap- 
provingly, “you have done well. Those threats are 
but a bluff ; the times have changed since such outlaws 
had their day.” 


177 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Within two hours the sheriff's deputies had inter- 
cepted the branded meat, and learned that Colonel 
Hanby had not sold a hoof to local buyers for ten 
years. A quiet search of the Jones range discovered 
more than a hundred hides at the bottom of an 
abandoned well; these ranged in age from hours to 
years and were marked by a score of different brands, 
though Hanby's and McGregor's were most numerous. 
In a week Roarer, his three oldest sons, and the night- 
man at the depot were arrested. 

At the trial the cogs of the law ground relentlessly, 
fed by a dozen witnesses, a number of hides from the 
well, and a portion of the preserved quarter of beef. 
The two Jones boys, the ones in whose names the 
meat was shipped, were found guilty and sentenced 
to three years each in the penitentiary. 

Roarer growled impotently under the fearless 
progress of a machine whose power he could not bluff. 
His fierce threat to “get" every juror in the box met 
only with grim smiles. One last word from Roarer, 
as he passed the Sotchman in the vestibule, voiced a 
passion that might yet demand a reckoning : 

“I'll get you yet, McGregor — and that kid, too." 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE LITTLE KENTUCKY WHIP 

I T was not long after the discovery of the rustlers 
that Kenneth and Arthur began their campaign 
for the Sterling fair — Frontier Day, as it had 
come to be called, for each fall everyone from miles 
around flocked in to spend four days of rollicking 
sport. Racing, riding, steer-roping, novelties, classi- 
fied for men, boys, and girls, and the great barbecue 
that finished up the last afternoon had made this the 
one long-looked- for event of the year. 

Both lads had won prizes the year before in the 
• boys’ events, but the coming fall offered purses so 
alluring in the men’s sports that both resolved to 
follow Arthur’s suggestion and strain every nerve to 
win some of them. They could easily qualify to enter 
any of the men’s events and felt that in riding and 
racing their chances were as good as any. With the 
choice of three hundred dollars in gold or a splendid 
silver-mounted saddle as an inducement in the 
broncho-riding contest, they thought the chance of 
winning well worth months of hard practice. If 
either won, the prize would make school just that 
179 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


much more certain. There was one race, too — half- 
mile dash for two-year-olds, with a fifty dollar purse 
— that Arthur felt sure of winning. His colt, whose 
mother had been a racer, had not yet been fully 
broken, but with the herd he had shown such 
phenomenal bursts of speed that all who saw him 
predicted he would give a splendid account of himself 
by fall. 

Arthur had begun with his halter-breaking very 
early in the spring. He planned to handle the colt 
every day when home so that the breaking would 
simply be a process of gradual acquaintance. Spunk 
would be two in July, and then would be soon enough 
for the saddle and little spurts on the road. 

One day in April Jack Porter, a big, round drover 
from the Denver stockyards, happened along with 
Colonel Hanby when Arthur had the pony out. 
Spunk was playfully living up to his name by a series 
of graceful leaps and vaults that caused Porter to 
draw rein and watch the antics. 

"'Pretty piece of hossflesh — that,’’ observed the 
drover to Hanby. 

"Ought to be — ^three-quarters Kentucky Whip,” 
answered the colonel. 

"Mighty good action. Shouldn’t wonder he carried 
a little speed up his sleeve, eh. Colonel?” 

"I’ll be much surprised if he doesn’t do great work 
some day. His sire was a thoroughbred — and a 
i8o 


THE LITTLE KENTUCKY WHIP 


wonderful horse; his mother was the fastest pony this 
county ever saw. Pity about her, too; died in her 
prime — three days after that colt yonder was born. 
That's how young McGregor comes to have him. 
Took him off Morgan's hands for a song and brought 
him up on a bottle." 

Jack Porter could not take his eyes from the colt. 
He saw, without the colonel's explanation, the won- 
derful possibilities of the little fellow, for good blood 
spoke in every line and move of the graceful body. 
He looked on for nearly five minutes. Spunk ap- 
parently doing his best to be amusing. 

‘‘Art," asked Porter finally, “is the little boss 
yours ?" 

“Yes, sir," answered Arthur proudly. “I paid Mr. 
Morgan five dollars for him when he was three days 
old. Fed him with a bottle." 

“Well, I wish he were mine. He steps like he'd 
never be ashamed of himself. Is he branded?" 

“Not a mark on him," said Arthur, “excepting a 
tiny scar on one of his heels." 

“Art, I want that pony," spoke up the drover after 
watching the horse a few minutes more, “and I'll 
make a bargain with you right now. My boy up in 
town has been teasing me for a real pony for a year. 
Here's what I'll do: if the colt shows up as well by 
fall as he promises I'll give you two hundred, spot 
cash. Does that interest you?" 

i8i 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Mr. McGregor had come up so Arthur looked to 
him for the answer. The ranchman spoke up 
promptly. 

^He's yours, my boy, to do with as you please. 
That’s a fine offer. Take it up if you like. You’ve 
got another pony.” 

Arthur had not spent his years in Chicago for 
nothing. He knew a bargain when he saw it ; and he 
was keen enough to see, as well, the chance for a 
better bargain. He thought instantly of the plans 
he had made to win that half-mile race. If he sold 
Spunk he would virtually lose the fifty dollar prize — 
for it was as good as his already, he reasoned. Porter 
had said that he did not want the horse till fall — ^till 
he had developed more. Then why not get that fifty 
dollars, too? 

*T’d like to take you up — have half a mind to do 
it; but ” 

‘Tt’s a bargain, then,” broke in the drover quickly, 
“and a mighty good one, too. Now, there’s just one 
or two little conditions I want to make: handle the 
colt just one month more. Treat him like a gentleman 
— no petting, mind you — so he’ll act like a gentleman. 
I want him to know his place and not be a snooping 
cur. Then turn him out in some good pasture — 
Morgan’s, say, where he came from — and leave him 
a few weeks. Bring him in occasionally for a day or 
two to keep him civilized. I’ll be down to Sterling 
182 


THE LITTLE KENTUCKY WHIP 


Frontier Day, so fetch him in from the pasture in 
time to tone him down a bit — so he’ll bear handling 
pleasantly. By that time he ought to stand up like 
a real boss — no need for a check or a docked tail. 
Here’s my hand and a ten to bind the bargain.” The 
drover stuck out a pudgy fist to shake with Arthur. 

Arthur’s hand went out involuntarily, but he hastily 
drew it back. 

‘T haven’t said for sure, Mr. Porter. I don’t want 
to make any mistake ” 

“Mistake! How’s that? Isn’t Jack Porter’s 
word ” 

“No, no, not that. But everybody that knows 
Spunk thinks he ought to show lots of speed. So 
Kenneth and I figured that we could break him this 
summer, gradually, so we wouldn’t hurt his growth, 
and could train him enough before the fair so as to 
win that half-mile for two-year-olds. There’s fifty 
dollars in that — and we’ll need the money awfully 
bad. Now, if I sell him to you before that race it 
is practically the same as cutting fifty dollars off his 
price — the same as winning the race and then letting 
you have him for a hundred and fifty. Now, if you 
would consent to let us go ahead with our plans, and 
still take him ” 

Porter slapped Arthur lustily on the shoulder, while 
he winked at Colonel Hanby. 

183 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘You’re certainly a sharp one, boy. I see there’s 
no use to argue, for you think Spunk can win that 
race — and I think he can, too. It won’t hurt him a 
particle to get a bit of experience, so I’ll meet you 
halfway on that proposition. Go ahead and put him 
into shape and win, if you can. But I still want you 
to let him run out half the time; don’t allow him to 
herd with a few old sleepy plugs, for that makes 
a meddlesome pup of any horse with ginger. You 
see a colt is just like a boy — needs a chance to grow 
and plenty of fun — and fun is like measles: if you 
don’t break out you’re apt to be left with a weak spot 
all your life.” 

“Then I’ll take your offer,” said Arthur, extending 
his hand to the drover. “He’s going to be worth 
every cent of what you’re to give, though. The only 
reason I’m selling him is that we’ll need the money 
worse than we’ll need the horse.” 

Arthur hated to part with Spunk, but he was really 
enthusiastic over his deal with Mr. Porter. He was 
more than anxious to add his share to the money that 
had to be raised by November. So poorly had the 
steers sold in the early spring that Mr. McGregor 
had more than once spoken with ominous shaking of 
his head over the prospects for school. In fact, so 
uncertain was he of being able to meet the coming 
payment on the land that he had suggested that one 
184 


THE LITTLE KENTUCKY WHIP 


or both boys try to find work among other ranchmen 
for a few weeks during the dull season. 

That very morning word had come from the 
Pawnee Ranch, forty miles down the river, that in 
two weeks they would need a dozen extra men for 
cattle dipping. There would be a month’s work with 
good pay, so Kenneth and Arthur had both decided 
to go. Mr. McGregor would attempt to manage 
everything alone during the month, for he agreed with 
them that seventy dollars would be a tidy little sum 
to help along. 

Arthur wrangled Spunk zealously for the two 
weeks, halter- and harness-breaking him until he be- 
came quite tractable. Kenneth, the better rider, ven- 
tured several times on his back for very lively, but 
satisfactory, tussles. 

There was but one day, the first, that Arthur 
broke training with the colt. That day he fondled 
the trim little bay and fed him sugar till Spunk 
followed his master like a dog. 

Kenneth remonstrated. ^You’ll make a little fool 
of him, Art. You’ve no right to do that now; he’s 
Porter’s colt.” 

‘‘Just this once,” explained Arthur sheepishly. “I 
was going to make a pet out of him, but I guess I’ll 
have to watch him grow into a horse instead. It’s 
a shame. Spunk, old boy, for we would have had some 
dandy times together.” 


185 


THIT luck of LARAMIE RANCH 


It took a week for Spunk to forget that one day. 
When the two weeks were up Arthur led him out 
to Morgan’s pasture and turned him in with one 
hundred other horses. 


CHAPTER XVj 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 

T he next Monday morning Kenneth and Arthur 
rode down to Sterling with Colonel Hanby 
and boarded the train for Buffalo Springs, 
a flag station five miles from the Pawnee Ranch. 
They started afoot along the dusty trail, carrying one 
little telescope of clothes between them. The long 
walk, to boys used to the saddle, was endless and 
tiresome. They found it hard to keep their spirits 
up, for too many discouraging things had taken place 
since the year before. 

**Say, Art,” exclaimed Kenneth in a sudden burst 
of imagination as they approached the ranch, ‘^let’s 
play tenderfoot. They won’t know us here, so we 
can be Smiths, or Browns, or Flanagans — just as we 
please — straight from the east. We can have some 
fun watching what the boys try on us. What do you 
say?” 

‘‘Bright boy, Kent,” laughed Arthur enthusiasti- 
cally. “That’s a bully scheme. I’ll be Happy 
O’Rourke and you can be Johnny Brown. We’ll ask 
’em very first thing if they furnish ‘43’ guns, and 
187 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


chaps, if there’s many Indians about, and when they 
have their open season for buffalo.” 

Mont Green, the Pawnee foreman, smiled patroniz- 
ingly upon the two boys who hesitatingly asked for 
work. Both saw him wink at the group of cowboys 
lounging against a fence near by. 

“In that outfit ?” he demanded, his eye running over 
their neat suits of “second best.” 

“Oh, no. WeVe got some work clothes in a satchel 
over there by the windmill.” 

“Can you ride without pulling leather?” 

“Why — a — well, no — ^you see weVe just come ” 

began Kenneth innocently. 

“I see. Can you shoot a rope without waving a 
welcome over your head?” the foreman next de- 
manded with a grin of amusement. 

“Eh? What?” queried Arthur. 

“Run without hooking your spurs?” 

“I don’t know, but I think maybe we can learn,” 
smiled Kenneth. 

“Oh, I guess you’ll have to do,” decided Green 
severely. “We’re short of men.” As he turned away 
he winked again at the loungers. 

“Er — ah — I suppose you furnish full outfits to your 
men — chaps, 47’s, and such things? We haven’t any 
of our own. And we wondered about the Indians — 
are there many close around?” asked Arthur soberly, 
as though it were all a matter of business. 

188 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


‘*47’s! Indians! Oh — well, you see, boys, the 47 
gun is a little out of style here, just now. I think 
most of the men favor the 23. WeVe dipping cattle 
now and won't put on full uniform till the herding 
begins, so you can get along with your own trappings 
for a while. We may give you a 23 before long on 
account of the Indians — ^but you won't find many but 
good Indians, I'm glad to say." Monty's reply was 
as soberly made as the question. ‘Tut to get down 
to business — get your duds changed at the bunk- 
house and be ready in ten minutes to prod steers 
through this vat with a pole. What names did you 
say you go by? Brown and O'what? O'Rourke, 
eh? Well, Rooky and Brown, get a hustle on you.'* 

Kenneth and Arthur plunged into their work with 
willing hands. So well did they accomplish the tasks 
assigned them, and so readily did they learn things 
supposedly new to them that it was not long before 
they had won the silent respect of all their associates. 
John Borden, too, the grizzled owner, saw how well 
the “tenderfeet" were serving him, and with an eye 
to the future threatened to “fire" the first man that 
played any of the usual dangerous pranks on them. 

“They're innocent kids. Play with them gentle- 
like if you must; but keep 'em off the bad horses — 
or you'll be looking for another job," was the gruff 
warning. 

After dinner a few days later, nine of the regular 
189 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


force, besides Arthur and Kenneth, were lounging 
under the scrub cottonwoods back of the bunkhouse. 
The cook had just run out to see the foreman about 
a load of supplies from town. Grub Oliver, notorious 
for his great appetite, hailed him as he turned back 
toward the kitchen. 

'^Say, Cooky, why on earth don^t you vary the chuck 
a little — give us some delicatessen, snipe, or quail, or 
somethin’? This ham-’n-eggs and dried-apple sass is 
fine, but it’s getting blamed old. How about it, boys ?” 
Grub looked to his companions for support. 

“Sure is,” responded several promptly. 

The cook whirled like a flash, his eyes full of fire. 
Apparently he proposed to suffer no criticism of his 
art, whether openly blazoned or covertly suggested. 

“Lookee here. Grub. You’ve no cause to growl. 
You’re getting more stuff to eat than anybody 
else ” 

“That’s the very reason. Cooky,” broke in the fore- 
man. “He’s foundered himself and wants a change.” 

Grub, with a fine display of scorn, whirled on 
Monty. 

“Mont, if I ate even half what you get away 

with ” but he, too, was interrupted. The cook 

was still furious, determined to defend his rights. 

“How am I to feed you on delicatessen, and snipe, 
and such stuff, with us forty miles from Sterling, 
I’d like to know?” With that he turned angrily and 
190 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


stalked toward the house. He stopped and retraced 
a few steps. 

'‘You lazy fellows get the stuff, and Til fix it up 
to eat — I promise you that. You all know I’d rather 
get up fancy dishes any day.” He seemed a little 
milder in his resentment of Grub’s complaint. "Say,” 
he went on, as if struck with a happy thought, "say, 
why don’t you boys bring in a mess of snipe occa- 
sionally, like you used to? Too lazy, eh? Well, you 
just fetch me a mess of fat birds and I’ll guarantee 
to tickle your palates.” Cooky had lost all his rancor 
and was in fine humor again. 

At this last remark several boys paused in their own 
conversation to glance up inquiringly, then went back 
to their talk. Kenneth and Arthur had nudged each 
other when snipe was mentioned, but were respect- 
fully interested in every word. 

"Why don’t you. Grub? Get some of the gang 
and go over on Frenchman Creek and get a sackful. 
Say, I’d like to get my teeth into some of those fat 
birds over there. Go on. Grub,” insisted the cook, 
once more starting for his kitchen. 

"Aw, it’s too all-fired hard work thrashing around 
in the willows, getting your feet and clothes all wet. 
I’d rather do without the snipe,” drawled Grub 
lazily. 

"Then quit your everlasting howl about my cook- 
ing,” was the sharp retort. "Beans and hard-tack 
191 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


are all you deserve,” Cooky finally shot back over his 
shoulder as he entered the house. 

Grub had evidently voiced the sentiment of the 
others, for no one seemed inclined to pursue the 
subject. Without doubt snipe-hunting w^as altogether 
too strenuous and disagreeable a job. So conversa- 
tion drifted to other channels and sniping seemed to 
have been forgotten. 

“Say, boys,” said the foreman, interrupting a 
heated argument on the proper depth to bum a 
brand, “whafs the use of quarreling over brands? 
Every last one of you knows that when she shows 
'cherry ’ the brand is deep enough. But let’s get back 
to sniping. I’m thinking Cooky is right about those 
birds — if we’re too lazy to go after ’em we don’t 
deserve to eat ’em. Now I, for one, want some roast 
snipe — and Cooky’ll baste ’em and brown ’em to the 
queen’s taste, if any biscuit shooter ever did. So 
I’m going to make this proposition; it’s mighty tough 
work — part of it, anyway — ^but I’m willing to change 
off with the gang on driving. That will divide up 
the hard work. We’ll split the gang in two, with 
three in each bunch for drivers. That will leave two 
for holding the sack and one for captain — we’ll need 
a good captain. One bunch will drive snipe a while, 
then the next crowd can drop in and relieve them for 
a ways — ^and so on. You see it will be only about 
half as much work for the drivers. It doesn’t matter 
192 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


about the two holding the sack — that’s the easiest part 
of it. It’s not so exciting, of course. I’m perfectly 
willing to hold the sack, if you ” 

‘‘Oh, no you don’t,” chimed in several at once. 
“You can’t play foreman and pick your job when 
we’re driving snipe; you work just the same as any 
other dog, then.” 

“Oh, very well. I don’t object, for I want to do 
my part,” laughed Monty. “But how about it? Are 
you all game? Remember, you can’t fill up on apple- 
sauce and roll in at eight- thirty if you’re going to hunt 
snipe. You’ll lose your beauty sleep and labor some 
if you follow this crowd, let me tell you.” 

There was a hearty chorus of assent — ^too hearty, 
in fact. Kenneth and Arthur were uncomfortably 
silent, for every word uttered, meant especially for 
them alone, brought them a little nearer to convulsive 
laughter. Once, Kenneth saw Arthur’s chest begin 
to heave, so pinched him savagely. Through it all 
not a word had been said to them, and apparently 
they were to be left out. 

“Well, it’s decided, is it?” asked Monty. “Then 
choose your captain and get busy. If we go, it will 
have to be tonight, for I’m going to send four of 
you up to the Buttes tomorrow.” 

“Grub! Grub! Grub Oliver for captain,” came 
the instant call from several. “He knows how so 
well he’s tired of it.” 


193 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Oliver smiled sleepily; he seemed totally indifferent 
to the honor about to be thrust upon him. He was 
not drowsy, but was watching the McGregor boys 
through his half-closed lids. 

‘‘Back up, back up,'' came from a new speaker. 
Bill Henderson. He spoke with an air of authority. 
“Whenever Grub Oliver captains this bunch Hender- 
son stays at home. We've got to choose a man that 
can work his head and feet at the same time. Every- 
body knows that Grub's brain won’t operate if he's 
in motion. Cut out Grub — he’s got to work for these 
snipe, and work blamed hard. He’ll eat half the birds 
when we sit down to 'em, so let’s make him earn every 
mouthful." 

“Right-o, Bill. Bill’s the man for cap, then. Make 
Grub lay into the collar. Bill," chimed in a cowboy. 

The two men remonstrated gently against changing 
places, but Bill was unanimously chosen. Then the 
captain and his company fell to discussing plans so 
seriously, ignoring the boys, that Kenneth nudged 
Arthur and rose to saunter away. He was curious 
to know how soon they would be admitted to the 
company of fowlers. So they both stretched them- 
selves lazily and started toward the barn. They were 
a dozen steps on the way, before they seemed to be 
missed. 

“Hi there, boys, you're in on this, too, aren’t you?" 
called out Mont Green cheerily. “I don’t see how 
194 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


we came to leave you out — weVe had the same old 
gang here so long we forgot the new ones, I guess. 
Of course you can't drive snipe, but I suppose you 
can help enough to earn a share." 

*^Sure, we’d like to help," replied Kenneth eagerly, 
as they turned back. ‘"J^st tell us what to do. I 
don’t imagine, from what you say, we’d be any good 
at driving, but we surely could hold the sack. That’s 
what you’d rather have us do, isn’t it?" 

Henderson looked sharply at Kenneth, but his face 
was guileless. Arthur appeared somewhat offended 
that they had been slighted. Satisfied with what he 
saw, Bill now glared at them severely. 

‘‘You kids can’t drive snipe; you can’t do much 
at holding the sack. You’re too green. It takes 
trained men to hunt snipe. I don’t see how we can 
use you at all," — and he turned away as if they were 
dismissed from further consideration. 

Grub Oliver came to the rescue. “Aw come on, 
Bill, and take the boys along. How’d you like to 
eat some goody you hadn’t done anything to earn?" 
he remonstrated. 

The captain glared witheringly at Grub. 

“Who’s captain of this crowd? Who’s bossing this 
snipe hunt? You, or me? I say we’ve got gang 
enough now. You’re going to work right alongside 
of me, and between us we’re going to do four men’s 
work. I’ll work your legs off of you, and we won’t 

195 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


need these kids along to catch snipe, either,'' was 
Bill's savage rebuke. He had the reputation of being 
able to do two men’s work. Grub tried to look crest- 
fallen, though both boys saw his wink at the captain. 

“Don’t lay it onto me that way. Cap," remonstrated 
the object of this tirade. “I never could stand much 
overwork, and I won’t be any account for a week." 

“Come, come. Cap. Loosen up," urged the fore- 
man pleasantly. “It isn’t fair to the boys; they want 
to help.” 

“Oh, well, just as you say, Mont. But what can 
we do with them ? They can’t drive snipe ; they can’t 
be trusted to hold the sack — for they’d let the birds 
get away. Still, I suppose that’s the only thing you 
can do. But you’ll have to mind my orders straight," 
reluctantly admitted the leader, as if conferring upon 
the two boys a very great favor. “Can you obey 
orders?" he demanded. 

“We’ll do the very best we can,” promised Kenneth 
meekly. 

Arthur stood off to the side indifferently slashing 
at the waxen cactus blossoms with a stick. He did 
not dare to look at his cousin. 

“Well, we’ll take you along to help hold the sack, 
but we’d be a lot better off without you,” was Bill’s 
final and grudging concession. 

The noon hour was just up, so they hastily agreed 
196 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


to meet at the corral, after supper, for the final ar- 
rangements. 

At supper the cook was still cross. He slammed the 
dishes down with unwonted vigor and muttered an- 
grily to himself, but always when just back of Ken- 
neth and Arthur’s chairs. He planked the ever- 
present biscuits and dried-apple sauce, ostentatiously, 
in front of Grub Oliver. 

‘‘Still a bit peeved, Cooky? Hadn’t you heard we’re 
going sniping tonight? Well, we are — the whole 
gang, kids and all. Say, that’ll mean a swell feed 
tomorrow — tomorrow’s Sunday, remember — so we 
want all the Sunday fixings, and then some — sort of 
Delmonico style, eh, boys ? Um-m-mm — snipe ! 

Sa-a-ay, boys ” Grub licked his lips at the 

prospect. 

The cook brightened at once. He looked inquir- 
ingly about for confirmation of this piece of news, his 
eyes finally resting on Kenneth and Arthur. 

“Sure thing, old man. We’re going tonight. We 
kids are going to hold the sack. That sounds funny, 
doesn’t it? Back in Chicago, where I came from, 
when anybody holds the sack it means the other fellow 
gets the boodle — and he gets stung,” volunteered 
Arthur with an odd grin. 

Everyone at the table was deeply in earnest with 
his biscuits and apple sauce just at that moment. No 
one seemed to have heard Arthur’s remark. Even 
197 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth was busy with his plate. The heavy silence 
was broken only by a sound from the kitchen; the 
cook had not waited for Arthur to finish, but had 
hurried out to his work. Evidently he had taken a 
drink, for it sounded much as though he had coughed 
with his mouth full of water. Then Grub Oliver 
choked with a crumb of biscuit. 

‘Wish that plagued cook wouldn’t put in so much 
baking-powder. Soda biscuits beat these sinkers any 
day,” grumbled that hearty feeder. 

“Where would you get the sour milk for the sodas,” 
asked one. 

“Sour milk — your grandmother ! Use canned milk,” 
answered Grub as he glared about belligerently. 

Several of the men were laughing boisterously. 

“Bully cook you’d make. Grub,” said Monty with 
a grin. “I think I’d begin boarding out after a batch 
or two of sinkers made with embalmed cow-juice.” 

“Well then, if that lazy cook would milk a cow 
or two, as he is supposed to do, we’d have plenty 
of sour milk.” 

The dangerous subject was safely passed and no 
further reference was made to snipe-hunting during 
supper. 

About dusk the boys met at the corral as agreed. 
Bill Henderson lined them up. 

“First, where shall we go? Where’s the most snipe, 
and the best place to get ’em?” 

198 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 

‘There’s thousands up on Frenchman Creek,” 
ventured one man, “but I’m afraid it’s too far to go. 
Five miles ” 

“Too far nothing, Pete — we’re after snipe. Five 
miles isn’t far. Anyway, I made up my mind this 
afternoon that Frenchman’s the place to get snipe, 
so there’s where we’ll go. That high bluff on this 
side, and the strip of sand on the other make a dandy 
snipe-run. You see,” — ^the captain turned with a 
fatherly air to the two lads — “you see, boys, snipe 
won’t fly at night. But they drive fine, so all you’ve 
got to do is to find a stream like Frenchman, where 
the birds will be on one side. You set a light down 
stream — snipe go for a light just like moths — then 
chase ’em right into a trap — sacks generally, for 
they’re the easiest. The drivers go up the creek a 
mile or so and beat the birds out of the willows. 
They run out on the sand and right down toward 
the light and into the sacks. It’s no trick at all to 
get five or more sacks in one drive. Those snipe 
are sure fools, after night. 

“Now you two” — Bill nodded to a couple of cow- 
boys near him — “can get six gunny-sacks ready. Put 
barrel hoops in the end to hold ’em open. Then after 
we get out to Frenchman Creek I’ll pick a spot where 
the bushes come down close to the water and you 
two can hold the sacks there. Sit on the hoops 
astraddle the sacks and don’t make any noise. I’ll 
199 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


put you kids about a hundred yards farther down- 
stream to catch what snipe get past — ^the first sacks 
won't hold 'em and lots are sure to get by. You'll 
probably get your sacks full, too. We’ll give you the 
lantern. Straddle the hoops and hold the light high — 
and steady, don't forget that. Not a wiggle of that 
light or it will scare every bird and waste all our 
work. It’s an awful job to thrash snipe out of the 
bushes and drive 'em a mile down the creek. You 
can see the whole thing depends on you boys. Under- 
stand ?” 

Both boys nodded vigorously. 

Orders were then given to saddle up. A lantern 
and the six bags were procured. It was a long five 
miles across the prairie to Frenchman Creek, so the 
captain planned to start at once. There was no moon ; 
by the time they could reach the stream it would 
be pitch dark. Absolute silence was enjoined upon 
all. Not a sound other than the creaking leather 
from eleven saddles, the rhythmical monotony of as 
many sets of unshod hoofs, and the occasional star- 
tling hoot of a prairie owl broke the stillness through- 
out the whole trip. 

It was inky dark when the somber party arrived 
at the creek. The country was strange to the two 
boys, but home to the men. Frenchman Creek was 
about twenty feet across and running several feet 
deep at this season. On the side toward the ranch 


200 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


it was bounded by a sheer bluff from ten to fifteen 
feet high, broken at wide intervals by defiles cut 
through for cattle. These cuts could not be seen 
by Kenneth or Arthur, but as if by intuition the eleven 
ponies struck one of them and single-filed down 
through it, across the stream, and up the gentle slope 
on the other side. There, at a signal from the captain, 
the party dismounted and tied three of the younger 
horses to tufts of sage; the others stood immovable 
when the reins were dropped. 

Bill Henderson gathered the silent group around 
him and whispered his final orders. “We’ll walk half 
a mile up and drop the kids ; a hundred yards farther 
and the other two sack-holders will stop; quarter of 
a mile more and you three” — indicating the men — 
“will stop and wait; another quarter mile and you 
two the same; Grub and I go on up and start the 
game. Say, the way I work that hungry coyote back 
through a mile of slop and brambles will be a caution. 
He’ll earn every bite he gets, and you won’t catch 

him saying ‘snipe’ for a year. Say ” the captain 

began to grow boisterous. 

“For goodness’ sake. Bill, shut up. You’ll scare 
all the snipe. I’m willing to earn my share,” inter- 
rupted Oliver. 

“Come on, then, boys. I’ll give the signal for every 
bunch to stop. When the kids drop out we’ll swing 
out away from the bank so’s not to scare the birds 
201 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

on the way up. Each gang will wait back on the 
bank for the drivers to come in from above, then will 
fall in and take their places. Grub and I will go 
right on through from start to finish.’^ 

‘'Suffering blazes! Fm getting tired a’ready,’' 
sighed Grub. 

“Now remember, you boys, when I give the signal, 
slip down to the edge of the water and set your sacks 
facing up-stream. Straddle the hoops, legs well out 
to guide the snipe in. Hold the light high — and 
steady, whatever you do. It’ll take us an hour, or 
more, to get the snipe down to you, so keep a stiff 
upper lip. You’ll get tired, but it’s a snap compared 
to driving. Come on, boys, and not a cheep out of 
one of you.” 

The grimly silent company of eleven snipe hunters 
trudged cautiously along the bank. After about half 
a mile had been covered the captain nudged Kenneth 
and Arthur — ^the signal for them to stop and adjust 
their sacks. They separated from the shadowy group 
and slipped down to the water’s edge. The nine dim 
figures tramped noiselessly on. 

Snipe-hunting is a nerve-racking and altogether 
thrilling sport — ^to the uninitiated. To be successful 
it is necessary to secure one or two enthusiastic 
patrons of the game — unwary ones, who are totally 
ignorant both of the sport and of the locality through 
which they hunt. 


202 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


In this chase conditions seem to have been ideal. 
Kenneth and Arthur, fit subjects seemingly, snapped 
eagerly at the bait prepared and cast so cleverly, and 
caught the spirit of the hour. The locality was to 
them an uncharted wilderness. There was but one 
step more: the nine men, instead of going on up the 
stream as planned, were to swing silently around in 
a wide half-circle, reach their ponies, mount, and 
depart for the ranch five miles away, leading or driv- 
ing the two riderless bronchos. 

Of course, the boys would wait patiently for an 
hour, impatiently for another hour; then, if intelli- 
gently suspicious, would decide to go home. The 
lantern is a trusty guide in an unknown land, so it 
would not be cast aside. Enthusiastic jokers would 
watch the beacon in the night as it wandered aim- 
lessly here and there, till sleep would become more 
attractive than the fun. The victims would drag 
themselves wearily in, sometimes in the gray hours 
of the morning — if they had the courage to return 
at all. 

As the nine men slipped into the darkness Kenneth 
and Arthur stood in their little circle of light choking 
down gurgles of laughter. 

“Oh, ye gods and little fishes! What a pair of 
suckers they think we are!” whispered Arthur, fairly 
shaking with his effort to control his merriment. 
203 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘Say, old man, if I can't lie down and roll I’m going 
to explode. Which shall it be?” 

Kenneth kicked his cousin sharply on the shins. 
“Be quiet, you chump,” he commanded, “we’re not 
done yet. The joke is still on us if we don’t get back 
to the ponies first. Come on — and if you never flew 
in your life, you’ll have to now.” 

As he whispered Kenneth was hanging the lantern 
to a stout willow. Before the words were out of his 
mouth he started back down the creek, Arthur at his 
heels. They sped silently along in the sand until 
they reached the ponies. In less than a minute the 
nine horses had been released and driven across the 
ford, and were filing up the opposite bank. 

“Now, on our own, and after ’em,” whispered 
Kenneth, suiting action to word. When well up the 
bluff the boys stopped to listen. 

In a moment or two they heard the men come in 
at a swinging trot. There was a sudden medley of 
muffled, querulous argument, then the shadowy group 
divided, part going each way cautiously. In five 
minutes they were back. This time the silence was 
lifted. 

“I say we tied ’em right here,” hissed Grub 
Oliver, “and there’s two of the sacks lyin’ right where 
you dough-heads left ’em. Oh, you’re a smart cap- 
tain, you are. Bill, to let a pair of kids put it over us 
like this.” 


204 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


guess this is the place, all right,” the boys heard 
Henderson reply gently, “but don’t let yourself get 
overheated. Grub. It looks to me like we’ve got this 
ditch to wade up to our belts, and a little five-mile 
hike ahead, so don’t start in too warm — it’s apt to 
be bad for your health. I’m curious to know how 
the kids caught on.” 

The boys waited for no more, but struck out for 
the ranch. Arriving there in about half an hour, they 
stripped the saddles from the eleven ponies and went 
in to bed. 

About three in the morning they were awakened 
by the first of their comrades to crawl stealthily into 
his creaking bunk. A profound sigh escaped his lips 
as he pulled the covers up around his neck. At four 
the last one tip-toed in; he sighed more profoundly 
than the first. 

Nine bedraggled pairs of trousers dangled on the 
barbed-wire fence at sunrise. 

At breakfast everyone was hungry — and intently 
absorbed in his food. The cook grinned broadly 
every time he brought in a steaming dish; no one 
saw any reason for his good humor, apparently, so 
he got no response. Suddenly Kenneth and Arthur 
both exploded in an uncontrollable burst of merri- 
ment. Nine pairs of eyes glared fiercely at them. 

“Cooky,” shouted Kenneth through his tears, “say. 
Cooky, why don’t you vary this grub a little? Get 
205 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


us some delicatessen, or quail, or snipe, or something. 
This dried-apple sass 

Grub Oliver looked up with an unpleasant gleam in 
his eye. 

*‘Say, young man, if you wasn’t a kid ” he 

began menacingly. 

‘Uh, I can’t help it. Grub, honest I can’t,” inter- 
rupted Kenneth, still shaking with glee. ‘We’re the 
McGregor boys, from Laramie Flats, and go sniping 
once in a while up there.” 

By the first of June the boys were home again 
with seventy dollars between them, the recollection 
of some great fun, and hearts full of courage for 
the success of their plans. The rustlers had been re- 
moved, the season had started well with the calves, 
prospects for money from work. Spunk, and prizes 
at the fair, were bright, so the boys were greatly 
encouraged. 

Arthur immediately brought in Spunk from the 
pasture and began again the interrupted task of break- 
ing. The pony had forgotten nothing, was perfectly 
gentle, easy to handle, but just spunky enough to have 
plenty of life. He had become a graceful colt, round 
and plump. There was one thing about him, how- 
ever, that was disappointing: his coat of bay, which 
should have been sleek and shining, seemed lusterless 
and rough — the result, likely, of running wild. A 
206 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 

week of grooming, thought Arthur, would correct the 
fault. 

The next day, when Arthur was riding his colt 
about the ranch, Frank Wilson, a neighbor, rode up 
and looked him over in much the same manner that 
Jack Porter had done. 

‘‘Fine little pony you've got there, my boy. I never 
thought you’d make much of him. Tried him out for 
speed yet?” 

Arthur shook his head. 

“No? Well, he’s a bit too young, of course, but 
he’s got it in him. Just look at those trim little legs, 
muscled, too. By George, he’s a beauty. Dirty, but 
I suppose that comes from roughing it. Want to sell 
’im? I’ve got a cool hundred dollars that’s talking. 
Come, what do you say?” 

Kenneth had come up and the two boys laughed 
outright. 

“Then you’ll have to find something that talks 
louder,” said Arthur. “I’ve had two hundred singing 
to me for six weeks. Porter’s to give ” 

Wilson was not listening. He had swung from his 
horse and was examining Spunk’s nose. Suddenly 
he threw up a hand. 

“Say, just hold on a second. I’ll take back that 
offer of a hundred.” 

He again bent over Spunk’s muzzle, then whistled 
in surprise. 


207 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


“Art, how long has this been coming on?” he de- 
manded, placing a forefinger an inch or two below 
the pony’s eyes. Wilson looked serious, but the boys 
both thought he was joking. 

“What?” grinned Kenneth. “Has he got a case of 
lump- jaw, or pink-eye, or is it paralysis of the tail 
feathers ? He doesn’t seem to suffer much, whatever 
it is.” 

Arthur laughed at this, but Wilson still looked 
soberly at the pony’s head. 

“No joke, boys. That hair — how long has he been 
shedding under the eyes?” demanded the stockman, 
his stubby finger touching a spot where the hair was 
imusually thin. 

Kenneth and Arthur were beginning to stare in 
uncertain amazement ; they saw for the first time what 
Wilson was pointing out. 

“Art, your fine colt is going locoed. The surest 
sign, together with his rough coat and uncalled-for 
nervousness, is that shedding under the eyes. He’s 
got ’em all. Too bad, too bad. A hundred cents will 
buy him in six months.” 

Both boys usually carried a smile and splendid 
color — a ruddy brown; but at Wilson’s heartless an- 
nouncement the smiles faded, and a sickly white came 
into their faces. 

“If — if he’s locoed, Frank, can’t we stop it some 
way — since it’s just starting?” asked Arthur weakly. 

208 


THAT MESS OF SNIPE 


doesn’t show it much yet. Won’t he get well 
if we keep him away from the weed?” 

Wilson shook his head. **They don’t get well when 
they’re locoed. It may take a long time — ^but it 
gets ’em.” 

Poor Arthur flung an arm around Spunk’s neck 
and kissed the bare spot on his muzzle. He could 
say nothing — neither could Kenneth — and tears rolled 
down the cheeks of each. Spunk grew restless at 
this unusual handling and tossed his head impatiently 
— sure sign, they thought, that the pony was not 
right. 

Arthur dejectedly turned his colt out again next 
day. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 

L ook, Father ! There come the horses string- 
ing in from the range. That’s an odd thing. 
They haven’t been in for months.” 
McGregor’s eye followed Kenneth’s pointing hand 
and saw a dozen or more ponies, ranging from 
weaned colts to worn-out bronchos, straggling in from 
the north. 

‘‘There’s something wrong, Kenneth,” he declared 
emphatically. “Either they’ve been harassed by a 
pack of wolves or the Springs have gone dry. Other- 
wise, we could scarcely drive them in.” 

“It surely can’t be the Springs; they haven’t been 
dry for years, have they?” 

“It’s been eight years — the summer we had no rain 
or snow from March till September. We’ve had 
plenty of moisture this season, so that can’t be the 
trouble — unless that reservoir of Grant’s has stopped 
the underflow. It’s strange those ponies should ap- 
pear so tired.” 


210 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


Father and son walked out to the gate and watched 
the horses come in. At sight of the tank the leaders 
quickened their pace and trotted eagerly forward. 
The whole bunch thrust their muzzles deep into the 
water, gulping and snorting in greedy haste. 

‘‘That decides it, Kenneth,’’ declared Mr. Mc- 
Gregor; “you must go right out. The cattle must be 
suffering, too.” 

“They’re sure thirsty, but I’ll wager there’s nothing 
the matter with the Springs. When Art and I were 
there last week the water stood higher, if anything, 
than usual. Most likely somebody has picked up the 
horses with another bunch and swung them away off 
from the water-holes. When they finally cut them 
out the ranch was nearer than the Springs.” 

“Well, I’m not satisfied that everything is right out 
there, Kenneth; so, as long as you’ll have to go 
through the cattle again in a day or two, you might 
as well run out this morning and make sure. The one 
trip can do for both.” 

Accordingly, Kenneth got his pony and started im- 
mediately for the water-holes on Spring Creek. In 
the six miles he encountered a hundred gaunt cattle 
straggling along the trail toward the river. 

At the springs — simply pools in the sandy bed of 
the draw — Kenneth found a peculiar condition. 
Dozens of lank cattle stood pawing and lowing anx- 
iously around each of the holes, which, so far as the 
211 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


boy could see, were unchanged. The water stood at 
the usual level, though it was black and filthy from 
the trampling of the stock. In its present condition 
the water was, of course, unfit to drink, but why it 
should have been churned into such a state was 
puzzling. Had it been but one of the pools, Kenneth 
could easily understand how a few drops of blood 
or the passing of some animal such as a skunk or a 
badger could have wrought the excitable steers into 
a frenzied stampede around and through the water. 
But such a thing could not happen to all the holes. 

Suddenly an idea occurred to him, but it seemed 
so unreasonable that he was inclined to give it no 
consideration. Was it possible, Kenneth wondered, 
that the water had been poisoned — or salted? He 
had vague, hearsay knowledge of the salting of water- 
holes for spite against sheepmen. Nothing of the 
kind had ever happened to his remembrance on this 
range, or ever against a cattleman ; so it was unlikely 
that examination would verify the fear. Had it oc- 
curred during the short time that Warner’s sheep 
had run over the flat the idea would have seemed 
more probable. But — Kenneth recalled with a start 
the trickery that had brought the flock away from 
their own range — the feeling against Warner had 
been wholly dispelled by the sheepman’s instant re- 
moval of his flock and his sincere offer to make 
complete reparation for the damage he had un wit- 


212 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


tingly done. The man that would do that trick against 
his neighbors would salt springs for cattle! 

Kenneth’s conjectures had flashed through his mind 
as he rode along from one hole to the next. Dis- 
mounting instantly he knelt by the pool and touched 
his lips to the water. A single taste confirmed his 
fear — the muddy liquid was pungent with salt. 
There was no clarifying stream to carry away the 
salt ; it must be absorbed by the underflow — ^an opera- 
tion that would take weeks. 

With a heavy heart Kenneth turned away from the 
despoiled pools. He rounded up the three hundred- 
odd head of cattle, including the stragglers of other 
cattlemen, and started them toward the Platte, nine 
miles away. Had there been none but their own they 
would have had to go to the river, for the windmill 
at the ranch could be depended upon for a herd only 
half the size, because of the uncertainty of the wind. 

Once well started the cattle knew instinctively 
where they were going and needed no urging. Ken- 
neth followed them slowly to the river, avoiding the 
ranch ; then he drove them back from the settlements, 
headed them for the Springs, and rode on home. 

‘They’re salted. Father,” announced Kenneth, rid- 
ing into the yard. 

“What!” exclaimed Mr. McGregor. “Salted! 
Surely you are mistaken, Kenneth. Who would salt 
a water-hole for cattle?” 


213 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

‘‘Fm not mistaken, Father; I tasted the water my- 
self. It’s terrible — ^biting, and black with mud 
trampled in by the cattle.” 

‘‘You must be right,” conceded the father reluc- 
tantly, “but it is hard to believe that anyone could do 
such a thing. Who is vicious enough ” 

“You ought to know, Father,” interrupted Kenneth 
irritably. 

“Oh, I thought of Jones at once, my boy; but I 
can’t think even he would illtreat the stock of half 
a dozen of his own best neighbors. I should expect 
Jones to go straight to the man against whom he had 
a grudge — we’ve had our trouble with him to prove 
that. To torture brutes requires quite a different 
type of man — ^Jones is kinder to his stock than he 
ever was to his family,” argued Mr. McGregor, loath 
to accept a more unpleasant conclusion. 

“It’s Jones,” averred Kenneth; “it can’t be anyone 
else. There isn’t another man on the Flats that we’ve 
had any trouble with worth considering. Larrabe 
has been sore because you took up that starved cow 
of his last winter and then made him pay for her 
feed; Hill thinks he has a grudge since we forced 
him to pull down that line fence; but Jones — he’s to 
blame for everything that’s happened, but it doesn’t 
change the fact that he has tried a dozen ways to 
worry us. Now, since the boys got caught and sent 
to jail he won’t stop at anything to get even with us. 

214 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


And it seems to me that a man who will steal cattle 
from his neighbors, trick a bunch of sheep onto their 
range, and then send his son out to kill the sheep and 
half kill a sick boy-herder, wouldn’t be backward 
about abusing a few cattle — especially if he could 
bring any grief to youf' 

‘'You may be right, Kenneth,” said his father, “you 
may be right, but it hurts me to have to admit it. 
I had hoped that the old man’s lesson had been taught 
him. At any rate we shall appear to ignore the 
affair. It may not happen again, but if it does we 
will be on our guard. Meanwhile, the cattle must 
be driven to the river — a hard, hard trip.” 

“Isn’t there any way to clean out the holes?” asked 
Arthur who had appeared toward the last of the con- 
versation. “Can’t we bale ’em out? They’re not so 
very big.” 

“An endless job, my boy,” replied Mr. McGregor. 
“The water will run in from below as fast as you 
can throw it out. You can hasten the matter, I admit, 
by a few hours a day. Suppose you do take a bucket 
apiece when you go out to-morrow, and see what can 
be done.” 

Next morning both boys went at the doubtful task 
with willing hands ; for it was anything but a pleasant 
job to drive a big herd of cattle nine miles to the 
river one day, and the next be forced to gather 
stragglers from a radius of three or four miles in 

215 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


order to repeat the weary trip. The grass was poor 
between the Springs and the river, but it was im- 
possible to push the hungry animals over more than 
half the journey; they were allowed to graze slowly 
back to the regular feeding grounds. 

Several days were required to bale out the pools 
so that no biting taste of salt was left. Even then 
the cattle sniffed and pawed suspiciously for hours 
before they could be persuaded to drink. 

After a week the affair seemed about to become 
only an unpleasant memory. But one morning Arthur 
came in hurriedly from the regular trip out and again 
reported that the cattle refused to drink from the 
Springs, but stood pawing around the water, half 
frantic with thirst. 

‘What! Again?” exclaimed Mr. McGregor an- 
grily. “Is it possible?” 

“I guess Jones means to break even, just as he 
threatened,” said Kenneth. 

“Jones or anybody, we shall tolerate no more of 
this,” was the old man’s grimly-spoken decision. 
“The courts will be no more lenient with these das- 
tardly acts than they were with those rustlers. Here- 
after we’ll guard those water-holes till we find out the 
sneaking coward.” 

For two weeks, after again clearing the pools, 
either McGregor or one of the boys kept watch at 
the little shack west of the flat. But nothing further 
216 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


happened, so they concluded that the last attempt had 
been made, and ceased their watch. 

The first night the guard was removed the Springs 
were again salted. In like manner, with maddening 
regularity for three successive weeks, the trick was 
repeated. Meanwhile the weary cattle had become 
footsore, and one old cow had lain down, exhausted 
from the unresting travel. Her torn carcass was 
found by Kenneth the next morning — a mute reminder 
of the vicious hate of some one. It was plain that 
the coward would harass them till their herds had 
been driven from the Spring Creek range. 

With all their vigilance, however, nothing ever hap- 
pened while the boys were on guard at the upper 
shack; the perpetrator, besides being a coward and 
striking at the dumb brutes in the dark, was clever 
enough to avoid detection. After several weeks the 
father gave up the struggle, but not until three old 
cows and five calves had borne witness to the vindic- 
tive hate. The cows, exhausted, had been pulled down 
by the wolves in the night; the calves, but half pro- 
tected by hungry, worn-out mothers, suffered the 
same fate. 

‘Well, Uncle,” said Arthur dolefully one night after 
a hard day on the range, ‘T found the fifth little fellow 
today over by the blowout. It looks like we’d have 
to count missing calves this fall instead of live ones. 
This makes nine of our margin gone, counting the 
217 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


two dry cows and the two calves short from last year. 
We might as well give up high school. It’s been 
nothing but trouble, trouble all the time.” 

‘'We haven’t much show, that’s sure. I’ve given it 
up,” said Kenneth dejectedly. “It’s certain we’re not 
through with Roarer Jones, for if he’ll salt water- 
holes he’ll do worse.” 

Mr. McGregor turned a harassed face toward the 
boys. 

“I’m sorry about this — more sorry than I can tell. 
I’ve dreaded to have trouble with Jones — it seems like 
he should be pitied — and I’ve been so anxious for you 
boys to have your wish about school. The mortgage 
falls due in October, but there isn’t much chance to 
get the steers into condition after this trouble — they’ve 
fallen off terribly in flesh. Then we may lose several 
of the old cows yet. We can’t keep up this fight over 
the springs any longer. Bring in the cattle tomorrow 
and we’ll haul some of the first cutting hay for night 
feed — they can graze around the ranch during the 
day. It will make a hard, expensive year for us — 
after mother and I have so hoped we could afford 
to send you on to school. I am still willing, however, 
to carry out your wishes, if by any chance you are 
successful at the fair and can help me out with about 
three hundred dollars.” Mr. McGregor ended 
wearily, as though broken by the bitter struggle. 

“Well ” with a disheartened little sigh Kenneth 

218 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


pushed to the center of the table a text-book he had 
been using. Then he dropped his chin on his clenched 
fists and stared into vacancy. He and Arthur had 
passed the examinations at Sterling with flying colors 
— they had stood in rank among the best. With the 
enthusiasm of youth they had at first seen nothing 
but success, so had plunged into their books deter- 
mined that lack of opportunity should be no handicap 
when the term began. But Fortune had alternately 
lowered their hopes to despair and raised them to 
certainty with a tantalizing mingling of good luck and 
disaster. Now, with his father himself hopelessly 
discouraged it seemed to Kenneth that all their efforts 
had been wasted. When he pushed back his book it 
was only too evident that he, too, had lost hope, and 
with it all interest in the work that he had held dear. 

Mrs. McGregor, watching her son closely, saw the 
bitterness creep slowly into his face, crowding out the 
hopeless, beaten look. After long minutes of silence 
she saw covertly the narrowing glint in his staring 
eyes — and she was afraid ; she longed to comfort him. 

“Kenneth, laddie,” she began, “we know just how 
you feel. But next year, perhaps ” 

“This year! This year!” he burst out suddenly, 
whirling toward his father. “Father, it’s got to be. 
We sha’n’t be whipped out this way. We’ll clear out 
those salty springs again to-morrow, and leave the 
cattle there. Fm going to find out who’s doing that 
219 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


— and stop him, too. Then there’s going to be some 
McGregors in the lead in one or two events on 
Frontier Day — we’ll just bank on that. I’ve ridden 
every outlaw on the Flats this summer and haven’t 
been thrown once; and what’s more, I’ve got a trick 
up my sleeve that will make the judges sit up and 
notice things when the broncho-riding contest comes 
off.” 

‘Well, well,” smiled the father incredulously, glad 
of the relief, “that sounds encouraging and I sin- 
cerely hope it all comes true. But I am afraid, in the 
first place, that we who try to be honest are no match 
for the others. Then, too, I fear you are building 
yours hopes unreasonably high to think you have the 
least chance against the hardened riders who will 
appear at the fair — they have mastered the clever 
devices that catch the eye of the judges, while you 
must rely upon simple riding. But go ahead with your 
plans, and do your best.” 

The next day the boys baled out the lower pools 
again. For ten nights they guarded the springs, giv- 
ing the footsore stock a needed rest. 

The eleventh afternoon both went home, but Ken- 
neth saddled up at dark and went back to the creek. 
There was no moon. He did not stop at the shack, 
but rode swiftly in a wide circle till he came in from 
the north toward the Jones Ranch, ten miles west of 
the springs. When within half a mile he stopped 


220 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 

near a little bunch of cattle, tethered Bob, and sat 
down to wait. 

Hour after hour passed, the dim crescent of the 
moon slipping behind the Buttes, and still he waited. 
Coyotes howled plaintively from the hills behind him, 
answered at intervals from a score of others in the 
distance; once one slunk up till he could see its gray 
outlines in the dusk. Bob cropped contentedly at the 
grass for several hours, then came up to Kenneth and 
stood with head hung low. 

Just as the first gray streaks of dawn shot up from 
the waving eastern horizon Kenneth heard the roosters 
crowing defiantly from the black clump of buildings 
in front of him. A door creaked through the still 
calm of the morning and he strained his eyes toward 
the ranch. Presently a dim form shot out from the 
low sheds at the left and drove swiftly eastward. 

Instantly Kenneth leaped to his feet, loosed the 
rope from Bob, and bounded into the saddle. Coiling 
it as his pony galloped, he urged Bob after the other 
form. He rode far enough in the rear so that he 
could just discern against the eastern horizon the dim 
outlines of the other horseman as he topped the crests 
of the hills ahead. For miles they rode straight to- 
ward the McGregor springs. 

Several hundred yards from the lonely shack the 
rider ahead dismounted in the shelter between two 
hills, left his horse and crept up to the old corral. 


221 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

A few minutes, probably long enough to satisfy him- 
self that no one was at the shack, and the form slunk 
out of the shadow and back to his horse. 

The rider again started eastward. When he reached 
the crest of the hills surrounding the grassy vale 
where the springs were located he rode slowly around 
till he had half-circled the flat. It was getting lighter, 
so Kenneth stopped in the bed of the creek a few 
hundred yards to the west. He saw the other horse- 
man come to a halt just over the edge of the hill, 
where he stood for fully fifteen minutes. 

By this time the grazing stock could be discerned. 
Without waiting longer the horseman rode casually 
over the hill and down among the cattle, as if search- 
ing for strays. When near the center he paused for 
a moment, then as if satisfied that no guard could be 
concealed, turned and dashed straight for the nearest 
pool. 

Kenneth’s heart fairly pounded with indignation 
and surprise when the rider leaped from his horse, 
tugged for a moment at some bulky object on the 
back of his saddle, then leaned with it over the water. 
After a second or two he lifted the burden to his 
shoulder, carried it to the next spring, and again bent 
over the water. It was enough for Kenneth. With 
the sudden inspiration that his approach might so 
alarm the horseman that a sudden dash in the still, 
uncertain light would prevent recognition, the boy 
222 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


turned his horse and dashed up the sandy creek for 
nearly a mile. Then he went south between two hills 
till he was again in the direct line between the Jones 
ranch and the springs. By the time the other rider 
could finish his work and reach this point it would 
be light enough for recognition, even at a moderate 
distance. 

Kenneth watched the horseman a few minutes later 
as he rode up the long slope below him. As he ap- 
proached Kenneth saw with astonishment that it was 
Sid Jones, Roarer’s fourteen-year-old son. Presently 
he cantered over the top of the hill. Horse and rider 
stopped with a snort of surprise; the rollicking tune 
that Sid was whistling died on his lips. 

“Hello, Sid,” called Kenneth breezily. “Out early 
this morning, aren’t you?” 

Sid’s greeting was but an ill-natured grunt — the 
product of his amazement. 

“Hunting strays?” was Kenneth’s next careless 
query. 

“Yes,” snapped young Jones, scowling. “What’re 
you doing over here?” he demanded, staring keenly 
at Kenneth. 

“Oh, I’m after strays, too,” was the smiling an- 
swer. 

“Well, you won’t be apt to find any Circle Dots 
here ; they’re more likely to be strayin’ off toward the 
river.” Sid turned his horse aside to ride on. 

223 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth purposely blocked his way. The half- 
bantering smile dropped from his bronzed face and 
into its place leaped a boyish sternness — smiling still, 
but with something of the baffling grimness of his 
father. 

‘Hold on, Sid,’’ he commanded; ‘T want to talk 
to you a minute.” 

“No time,” chopped out the other lad. “I’m due 
at the Buttes in an hour.” 

“Then I’ll fall in and ride a ways with you.” 
Kenneth swung Bob around and headed west. Sid, 
for some reason, did not start. 

“Well, spit it out,” he snarled angrily; “get it over. 
What’ve you got to say? Make it short.” 

Kenneth fixed his eyes keenly on the impatient 
rider. “Sid,” he began slowly, “we don’t need to beat 
around the bush, for you know exactly what we’ve 
got to talk about. What I say doesn’t matter; it’s 
what you say that counts.” 

“Oh, bosh!” snorted Sid in mock disgust. “Talk 
what you’ve got to say and get rid of it; you’ll feel 
better.” 

“You’ll talk sense before long, Sid,” warned Ken- 
neth, provoked against his will by the other boy’s 
bluster. 

“Begin yourself,” was the defiant retort. 

“What were you doing at our springs this morn- 
ing?” demanded Kenneth abruptly. 

224 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


Sid’s face changed for a fleeting second. ‘How do 
you know Fve been there this morning? Besides it’s 
none of your business whether I was there or not.” 

“It is my business — and everybody’s whose cattle 
water there. It’s no use, Sid, for you ” 

“Can’t a man water his horse there without ” 

began Sid testily. 

“You didn’t water your horse there — and you’re 
wasting time with this quibbling.” 

“No more than you. I don’t know yet what you’re 
driving at.” 

“That isn’t true; you know exactly ” 

“ And I told you it was none of your business.” 

Kenneth eyed the defiant boy calmly for a long 
minute, searching him curiously from head to foot 
He hardly knew what to say; he wondered if it were 
worth while to talk with him at all. A vague sort 
of disgust came over him at the idea of letting the 
boy go on and then rushing home with his discovery. 
Had it been a man — but this boy younger even than 
he, made it a different matter. Kenneth doubted the 
wisdom of carrying the news home ; recoiled from the 
idea of punishing this lad for something that would, 
by its contradiction to what was worthy, embitter Sid 
forever, perhaps, against any ambition that might 
have some good influence on his life. He felt the 
pity of Sid’s environment and knew that the boy was 
not to blame for the mischief into which he was 
225 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


being forced. That any good could come from words 
here with him seemed improbable, yet Kenneth felt 
that somehow he had reached the climax of the last 
few weeks of trouble, and that its ultimate outcome 
lay now with him. 

His eye roved over horse and rider who, boylike, 
stiffened his legs rebelliously in his stirrups, and 
finally rested on a gunnysack tied loosely behind the 
saddle. From its open mouth trickled a thin, white 
stream of salt; on the ground below lay a little mound 
of it. 

Kenneth's eye flashed up to Sid’s, but the boy was 
looking sullenly away. It seemed that young Jones 
had no intention of admitting what he felt it doubtful 
that Kenneth knew, yet he was fascinated by that 
doubt and lingered to learn just how much his accuser 
knew. 

‘"Sid,” began Kenneth again, this time straight to 
the point, *T want you to tell me just what good it 
can do you to dope our springs.” 

Sid flashed a guilty look at Kenneth; his answer 
was slow in coming — too slow for one who was sur- 
prised. ‘'Doping your springs ! What do you mean?” 
he demanded finally with a great show of anger. 

Kenneth pointed first to the salt-encrusted sack then 
to the pile on the ground. Sid’s face went white. 

‘T was there, Sid,” went on Kenneth quietly, “and 
saw every move you made. I saw you ride up to the 
226 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


little shack and sneak around to see if any of us 
were there; then ride more than half around the flats, 
and stop on the east side for nearly fifteen minutes. 
Finally you rode down into the herd to see if any of 
us could be hiding among the cattle, looked around for 
several minutes, and rode up to the nearest spring. 
You took this sack off your saddle and began your 
dirty work. I didn’t wait for any more, but rode over 
here so as to get a good look at you when it was 
lighter. Now tell me, Sid, just what good it can 
do you?” 

The guilty boy glowered sullenly at his accuser. 
His discovery seemed to have unnerved him. 

‘Dh, you’ve got me, I s’pose,” he muttered fiercely. 
‘Now go on home, you snooping spy, and squeal. 
Have your dad fix me like he did Ed and Frank. Go 
on — fix me a-plenty. But don’t forget — my dad’s 
a-layin’ for you.” 

“Sid, you don’t give us a square deal, do you know 
that ?” 

“Square deal!” snorted Sid. “You talk square 
deal? Your father put my brothers in the pen, 
queered dad so he can’t mix with anybody, made us 
dip our cattle last fall when it cost us more than 
a hundred dollars for ‘dip’ and rounding up the 
second time, and now you’ll fix me, too. Who’s 
getting the grief, I’d like to know?” 

“You folks started everything — just like you’re 
227 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

doing this — for spite. We had to protect ourselves. 
You haven’t any such reason for what you’ve done 
to us.” 

‘Well, we gave you a little misery, anyway,” de- 
clared the boy desperately, “and I’m glad. I’m sorry 
it wasn’t worse.” 

“It’s queer you can’t see that you hurt yourselves 
the most every time you land on us.” 

“The fun of watching you squirm — there’s your old 
man” — Sid pointed over the hill with alarm in his 
already drawn face — “now squeal.” 

Just as Sid put spur to his pony Kenneth reached 
out and tore loose the salt-encrusted sack. 

“Stay here, Sid ; don’t be a fool,” he ordered 
quietly. 

The boy reined in fiercely. “That’s a dirty trick, 
darn you — ^just like the rest of your work. I’ll get 
even — you’ll see,” was his angry warning. 

Kenneth folded the sack and thrust it under him. 
“Now stay right here and don’t run away like a 
coward,” he commanded roughly. 

Sid rode back, dominated by the older boy, though 
why he could not have told. 

Mr. McGregor had by this time reached the foot 
of the hill, and in a moment galloped up to the boys. 
He flashed a questioning glance at both. 

“How came you over here, Kenneth? I supposed 
you to be with the cattle.” 

228 


THE SALTED SPRINGS 


just left there half an hour ago and rode over 
to see if Sid knew anything about the springs. .They’re 
salted again this morning.” 

‘Again? Again, with you right there, Kenneth? 
This is too much. Somebody should suffer for such 
an outrage.” The shaggy head of iron-gray fairly 
shook with his righteous wrath. The old man glared 
with evident disapproval at his son’s companion. 

“What does Sid know about it?” he demanded. 
“Have you found out anything? Of course not. 
Come, come, Kenneth, we must get the stock down 
to the ranch. I’m weary of this outlawry.” He did 
not pause for an answer to any of his questions, but 
spurred his horse on toward the springs. 

“Here’s your sack, Sid; better keep it out of sight 
after this, ’specially when it’s covered with salt.” 

The boy stuck out a trembling hand for his bag. 
“Ain’t you going to keep it ? Why didn’t you squeal 
when you had me here with your old man?” he de- 
manded with uncertain voice, frightened more since 
the moment of suspense was past and his flash of de- 
fiant valor gone. 

“I’m not that kind, Sid ; I’m willing to give a fellow 
a chance — a kid, anyway.” 

Incredulous wonder spread over the Jones boy’s 
face. 

“You don’t mean — you won’t — ain’t you going to 
squeal ?” 


229 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘Not if I can help it, Sid. All we want of you is 
a square deal. Tve tried to think how you must feel 
about this. If I were 3'^ou, I’d want a show. Give us 
a show, too; it means school for Art and me.” 

Sid’s relief and wonder overwhelmed him. He was 
only a boy, and the strain had been very great. Tears 
sprang into his eyes — eyes that were growing hard 
too soon. 

“By ginger, kid, you’re sure white,” he said pres- 
ently, staring at Kenneth in admiration. “Here’s ” 

he thrust a brown hand across toward the other boy, 
then drew it back in shame. “I’ve been rotten all 
along; so’s the rest of my tribe. I take back every- 
thing about your doing us dirt — it’s us.” 

“Then the springs ” 

“I’ll never dope another spring — ^not even for my 
dad; he’ll half kill me if he knows I got caught.” 

“Then good-by, Sid, I’ve got to go.” 

“By George, you’re sure a white one. So long.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 

I ’LL get McGregor yet, Al, or you can just 
put Roarer Jones down as a coward. That 
goody-goody old Scotchman can’t send my 
boys over the road. I’ve waited a long time for my 
chance, but it’s sure coming. The old lady and the 
kids are going to leave Mac alone next week. That 

means for us ” a hard, wicked laugh followed the 

words as they floated through the still, summer twi- 
light. 

Kenneth leaned idly against the windmill, waiting 
while it filled his pail with water. He heard the 
patter of hoofs on the road leading past the tank, and 
presently the sound of voices reached his ear. He 
paid no attention until, as three horsemen appeared 
dimly against the darkening sky, he caught the start- 
ling threat of the spokesman. Instinctively Kenneth 
crouched below the edge of the tank while the men 
walked their horses within a few feet of him. Dark 
as it was, he recognized Roarer Jones, Buck, and a 
notorious character named Cochran. 

In reply to the savage statement came an answer 
231 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


more startling still. ‘‘^Fll help you do the job, Roarer, 
but there can’t be any bungling; we’ve got too many 
eyes on us now. When the old man squeaks it’ll have 
to look like he’d done it himself,” said Cochran so 
low that another dozen feet away it could not have 
been heard. 

“All I’m afraid of,” replied the first speaker, “is 
that we will have to be so blasted careful there won’t 
be any chance to see the good old saint squirm. But 
I’ll fix him. He can’t send any kin of mine to jail 
without settling with me. And let me tell — ^break 

even — call turn — prayers won’t ” a few broken 

phrases reached Kenneth, then the voices died away, 
leaving the boy in trembling terror. 

Forgetting his pail he dashed through the yard and 
into the house. 

“Father!” he cried, glancing instinctively behind 
him, “Father, Roarer, Buck, and A1 Cochran ” 

“Stop !” and the old Scot flashed a gesture of warn- 
ing to his son. “Come here, Kenneth.” 

The boy walked to his father’s chair, bewildered. 

“Son, I know just what it is — I’ve been expecting 
it for months. But your mother must not know — she 
may step in at any moment; and it is just as well that 
Arthur does not find it out. Now steady yourself 
and tell me what you have heard.” McGregor’s voice 
was calm enough, but there was evidence that he was 
deeply stirred. 


232 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 


Kenneth’s alarm increased but he tried hard to com- 
pose himself. “Father, the Jones’s and A1 Cochran 
are going to kill you. I was at the well just now 
when they rode by. I heard every word they said. 
It’s all because you helped send the boys to the pen.” 

“I know. They threatened me at the trial, and I 
have been expecting it again lately since we have had 
so much trouble with them. But I cannot think there 
is any real danger; they dare not add worse things 
to the suspicion hanging over them already,” said Mr. 
McGregor reassuringly. 

The old Scot had long expected that the Jones’s 
would make good their threats to “get” him, as they 
had boasted. But they were crafty fellows — ^their 
crimes had made them so — and as the months had 
passed everyone forgot them but McGregor himself; 
he knew the type too well to ignore the probabilities. 
Fearless for his own welfare, his greatest anxiety 
had been for his wife and boys. So he was not 
surprised at what Kenneth had overheard. He had 
long avoided rides through the hills alone and was 
careful that some one was usually with him at home. 

Kenneth, though his father assured him that there 
was no danger, found himself in constant fear for 
him — he knew of too many tales of earlier savage 
vengeance. For a lad of his age he was unusually 
well schooled to responsibility, so felt it his duty to 
be constantly on the alert, regardless of his father's 

233 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


apparent indifference. He never saw one of the 
Jones’s but he felt the hatred in their eyes — even for 
him. So, when it was planned that he and Arthur 
should accompany his mother on a visit to Denver 
for a day or two with the Porters, Kenneth sought 
for some excuse to stay at home. Remembering his 
father’s warning that his mother should learn nothing 
of the threats, he dared not give her the true reason, 
so made no objections to the trip. The day before 
they were to start a he^vy, driving sand-storm caught 
some of the scattered cattle, swept them into the 
valley, drove them through the fences, and drifted 
them miles across the river to the south. This meant 
days in the hills. Kenneth saw the work ahead and 
innocently excused himself from the trip to help his 
father. So the mother and Arthur left the two alone. 

Toward evening the next day as Kenneth stood 
gazing out of the west window he saw three men 
ride up to the crest of the hill just beyond the edge 
of the ranch, stop for a moment, then turn back the 
way they had come. For an instant the horsemen 
and their hesitation meant nothing to him, but when 
they turned abruptly to ride back out of sight the 
reason flashed upon him ; he rushed to the little stand, 
seized the worn field-glass, and focussed it upon the 
last of the retreating riders. It was exactly as he 
had feared: the rider was Roarer Jones; the others 
he could guess. In a panic of alarm Kenneth rushed 

234 



“‘Father,’ he cried, ‘I just saw Roarer.’” 



-/ • 




•A 




•. / u. ^ ■■ <1 ■ \.‘ 



V 






* 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 

into the sitting-room where his father dozed beside the 
table. 

“Father/' he cried, “I just saw Roarer and two 
other men ride to the edge of the hill, look down at 
the house for a minute, then turn back out of sight. 
Do you suppose — can they intend to come here after 
dark to — Father, will they try to kill you?" 

McGregor was wide awake in a second; his eyes 
flashed and his jaws squared grimly as he met Ken- 
neth's alarming news. 

'‘They will if they can, Kenneth. They think I am 
here alone and it's the chance they've been waiting 
for. Likely when they find you are here they will 
not make a move. But we can’t take any chances 
with that gang so you had better ride over for Colonel 
Hanby right away. Hurry, so the colonel can get 
here before dark — they may come any minute after 
that. And Kenneth, my boy, I want you to stay over 
there tonight. If there should be any — trouble. I’ll 
be free to ” 

“Stay at Hanby’s? And you here alone, being 
killed, maybe? Why, Father, I won’t " 

“Hush, my boy,” interrupted the father, frowning. 
“With the colonel here there’ll be no danger. So run 
along and say no more.” 

“Please, please, Father; let me come back ^'' 

“Kenneth!” 

Kenneth knew the futility of further words, so he 

235 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


wasted no time in starting bareback across the two 
miles to the colonel’s ranch, nearest neighbor to Mc- 
Gregor. He found that Colonel Hanby and his men 
had been away all day gathering up drifted cattle. 
They were expected back before dark so Kenneth 
waited impatiently for them to come. After an un- 
comfortable half hour he decided that his only course 
was to return alone — he had long since determined 
to return with Colonel Hanby, anyway. Leaving 
word for the colonel to come the minute he reached 
home, Kenneth started to the ranch just as the 
shadows were beginning to fall. 

Meanwhile at the ranch, Mr. McGregor hastily did 
up the chores and made ready for the night. Fol- 
lowing his custom of years he drew down the blinds 
and lit the sitting-room lamp as soon as the daylight 
began to fade. The only departure from his custom- 
ary procedure was to securely fasten the windows and 
front door, leaving only the back entrance till the 
colonel should come. Though he anticipated no 
trouble after the colonel should arrive, McGregor took 
the precaution to get out his old ‘‘.45,” examine it 
carefully, and lay it on the table by which he sat. 
Then he sat down to wait for the colonel. 

Presently he dropped his paper, mopped his per- 
spiring brow, and stepped to the stove where he took 
up the heavy poker. Then he went to the west win- 
dow and was in the act of raising it when a sound 
236 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 


caused him to turn toward the kitchen door. There, 
between him and the chair he had a moment before 
quitted stood Roarer Jones, Buck, and A1 Cochran! 

^‘Good evening, boys; come right in,*' was the 
Scotchman’s hospitable greeting, with no sign of fear 
or surprise. 

The answer was a wicked laugh, followed by a ter- 
rible oath. 

“You bet we’ll come right in; glad to find you 
home,” sneered one of the visitors. 

Evidently McGregor’s eye glanced past them to his 
weapon, for Roarer turned and saw it. “Caught you 
napping, eh?” he said, reaching for the revolver. 
After throwing out the shells he tossed the useless 
iron into the kitchen and shut the door. 

McGregor backed slowly into a corner holding the 
heavy poker in his hand. He smiled grimly though 
he expected little mercy. 

“Well, Roarer,” he began quietly, “it looks as 
though ” 

Roarer interrupted him savagely. “No use, Mc- 
Gregor; we’re not here to bandy words; we’re here 
to kill you.” 

“Don’t think you can scare me, Jones; you don’t 
dare kill me. You’d be fools to try it — and no one 
knows it better than you.” The Scot laughed mirth- 
lessly, scorn in his face; but his eye followed every 


move. 


237 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘‘You fool yourself there, old man,” growled Jones 
menacingly. “We didn’t come here to run our heads 
into a noose. I haven’t waited months for nothing; 
I’ve got you right. And let me tell you now, med- 
dler, no man living can send a boy of mine over the 
road — no matter what for — and not pay for it.” 

McGregor laughed again — a dry, harsh laugh — ^but 
he made no reply. 

“Oh, laugh, you fool, if you want to — ^now. It 
won’t be funny very long. You’ll be wanting to say 
your prayers before we’re through. 

“Lookee here, Mac,” said Roarer, dropping his 
banter, “you think yet this is some sort of a joke, but 
it ain’t. We know just what we’re doing. I want 
you to sweat — ^to shake over it — like you made me 
and my boys’ poor old mother sweat at that trial. So 
I’m going to tell you just what’s coming to you — it’s 
the only joy I get out of it — and just how you’re 
going to croak. To shoot you like a dog would be too 
good for you; besides, you know we can’t. We don’t 
dare choke you; we don’t dare hang you. You know 
we can’t do any of those things. But what’s to hin- 
der your killing yourself, eh? Hadn’t thought of 
that, had you? Well, you’re about to do that very 
thing — and there won’t be any suspicion about it, 
either. 

“Say, McGregor,” went on the hate-laden voice, 
“do you remember that old Marvin well-off east a 
238 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 


ways? Ah! Now you tumble. What's to hinder 
your riding the little roan into that ninety-foot hole? 
Simplest mistake in the world to hit that broken-down 
fence in the dark and ride onto the rotten platform — 
them boards won't hold up fifty pounds. Dozens of 
old wells scattered around on these deserted claims 
with nothing to protect 'em but one slack wire and 
a rotten cover. There's many a dogy drops into 'em. 
Feel a little sick, eh, old man? Well, that's exactly 
what we’re here for. We're going to tie you up — 
hog-tie you — and throw you in, hide whole; then the 
roan goes in on top of you — ^that’s the only thing I’m 
ashamed of. Oh, we’ll be neighborly and help pull 
you out when someone finds you a few weeks later. 
Sweat now, blast you." 

‘‘Have it your own way, then; but I advise you to 
think twice before attempting something that must 
surely fail. Besides, you have yet to tie me," replied 
the Scot, in quiet confidence. He knew that any mo- 
ment might bring the colonel and change the odds. 

“We’ll soon have you hog-tied — that’ll interest you 
a little," shouted the old rustler in reply to Mc- 
Gregor’s boast. “Come on, boys." 

The three closed in upon the cornered man. Then 
followed minutes of shuffling and stamping of feet 
as they charged at their victim. Buck Jones at- 
tempted to toss his rope over McGregor’s head, while 
the other two sought to grapple with him to bear him 

239 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


down. There was an occasional thud accompanied 
by torrents of profanity, as 3ome one plunged into 
the wall. Above the clamor could be heard Mc- 
Gregor’s dry laugh, and time after time, the ring of 
the poker as its sharp raps kept the assailants at a 
distance. Occasionally the rope fell true, but the 
sturdy old warrior, alert, threw it off each time be- 
fore the coil could tighten. Finally, after a brief 
pause and a whispered word, the three charged upon 
McGregor, the younger boys diving at his legs while 
Roarer grabbed for the throat. The Scot made a 
great leap to the side and the two boys plunged their 
heads into the wall; Roarer tripped and fell on top 
of the discomfited pair. They were all up in an in- 
stant to find their victim smiling from another corner. 
After this the rope was again used, Cochran and 
Buck endeavoring to entangle the Scotchman while 
Roarer sought to divert his attention by close attacks. 

By this time Kenneth had dashed into the yard, 
drawn to a furious run by the sight of three horses 
tied behind the low barn. Hearing the tumult within 
he flung himself from the heaving pony and bounded 
into the kitchen. Just as he reached the inner door- 
way an exultant yell rang out from the other room. 

‘TVe got ’^m. Pull, Al, pull — thunderation, he’s 
got my rope.” 

There was a rush as though some one had dashed 
in to seize the rope again before it could be thrown 
240 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 

off by the yictim; then a dull, ringing thud, and a 
groan, 

Kenneth was checked in an involuntary gasp of 
fear just as his hand touched the knob of the door; 
he realized that he was about to charge blindly into 
certain danger, defenseless. He looked frantically 
about for some weapon; his eye caught the gleam of 
the pistol lying on the floor; like a flash he seized it 
and flung open the door, unnoticed by the engrossed 
fighters. 

At that instant Roarer leaped to his feet, blood 
oozing from a rough bruise on his forehead. With 
a terrible oath he pulled his gun, reversed it, and 
charged upon McGregor. 

^‘I’ll stop this horseplay,” he thundered. 

The heavy butt descended savagely, once, twice, 
three times, but each blow rang harmlessly against 
the iron guard of the grim veteran. Cochran, watch- 
ing his chance, dropped his rope neatly over Mc- 
Gregor's head and drew it taut. At the same instant, 
a fourth blow from the Colt’s fell within the guard 
and crashed against the old man’s cheek. With a 
groan, and one wild, appealing glance toward the 
door, he braced himself against this double attack, 
only to be jerked forward to his knees. There was a 
broken cry of ‘Laddie,” just as the three, like beasts 
of prey, pounced upon their victim. 

All this Kenneth saw in the brief seconds of its 


241 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


happening. In a furious rage he plunged across the 
room toward the struggling men. 

‘‘Fm coming, Father,” he shouted, and crashed the 
heavy butt of his weapon upon the head of the top- 
most ruffian. Roarer Jones slid senseless to the floor, 
his gun, upraised for another vicious blow, falling 
with his limp hand. Cochran dropped the rope with 
which he was trying to bind the helpless man and 
jumped to his feet to ward off the second attack of 
the frenzied boy. The gun fell heavily again, but 
Cochran seized it before it struck. He then dealt 
Kenneth blow after blow with his fist, but without 
effect, for to the boy in his blind fury the punish- 
ment was nothing. He tore his revolver from the 
cowboy’s grasp and raised it again. This time Coch- 
ran drew his own gun and struck Kenneth savagely 
and the boy sank in a crumpled heap. 

The instant Cochran released his hold to meet the 
boy’s attack McGregor bounded to his feet, his face 
distorted by several brutal kicks from Buck Jones. 
Throwing off the rope he knocked Buck down, 
whirled and tore the ‘‘.45” from Cochran’s hand. 
Before the astonished cowboy could recover from this 
unexpected turn, McGregor had dragged his uncon- 
scious boy away and backed against the wall, with 
the Colt’s leveled at his assailants. 

*‘Your gun, you coward — ^butt foremost,” he com- 
manded tersely. 


242 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 


Buck Jones rose sullenly and obeyed. McGregor 
shoved the weapon into a pocket. 

‘‘Hands up, and back against that wall — ^both of 
you,” came the second abrupt order. Still covering 
the prisoners, the anxious father knelt and pressed an 
ear to Kenneth’s heart. As he listened for its beat- 
ing there came the sound of flying feet outside, then 
the kitchen door was flung violently open, and in 
another second Sid Jones plunged into the room. 

He stood for one startled instant, flashing a glance 
first at Kenneth, then at his father on the floor. 

‘father ” 

Just then Roarer staggered blindly to his feet, gun 
in hand. Seeing the two men lined up to the wall his 
confusion cleared. Like a flash he turned on Mc- 
Gregor and leveled his gun. 

“Fll fix you now,” he roared with an oath, his face 
black with rage. 

The shot went wild, for Sid, divining his father’s 
intention, had leaped toward him and struck up the 
eager gun. “Dad, dad, is that all the sense you’ve 
got?” he cried, grappling with him. 

“Hold off, hold off, you whelp,” shouted the en- 
raged old man, struggling fiercely to free himself 
from his boy’s grip. McGregor had leaped toward 
them, and seized the smoking weapon just as Jones 
hurled Sid to the floor. A sharp struggle for a mo- 
ment and the old Scotchman secured the gun. 

243 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

‘‘Now Roarer,” was his quiet command, “you may 
line up over there, too.” Then the still anxious 
father turned back to his son. 

Kenneth had recovered consciousness and was sit- 
ting on the floor watching the contest with wonder- 
ing eyes. 

“Thank God, my boy!” exclaimed the father, re- 
lief in his worried voice. “I was afraid for a bit ” 

“Oh, Tm all right,” said Kenneth, rising unsteadily, 
“just a queer bump on my head, that’s all. But 
what’s Sid doing here?” he demanded. “Sid, did 
you — what are you here for?” 

“I think he saved my life, Kenneth,” answered Mr. 
McGregor; “he struck the gun just in time.” 

“I came a-purpose to” — he glanced uneasily 
toward his father and brother — “to stop this — if I 
could.” He moved instinctively away from his own 
people. 

“Roarer,” began McGregor calmly, “I’ve got you 
now where I can finish the whole gang — a word to 
the sheriff and you’d be out of my way — and I con- 
fess it would be a relief to me to have it done. But 
I have no grudge against you — I wouldn’t lift a finger 
to punish you simply for the satisfaction it would give 
me ; what I want, is to have this trouble stopped. 
Why can’t we look at the matter sensibly? 

“Frank and Ed are taking the punishment for your 
thieving. When you tried to break me my boys beat 
244 


ROARER PLAYS TO WIN 


you out, but they would have been the hardest hk 
had you won. Tonight, Kenneth lost you this fight 
and Sid has saved you from a far worse finish than 
you had planned for me. Win or lose, for either of 
us, our boys have taken the consequences and have 
produced the results. Now, why not give the boys a 
chance? Let’s stop this fight, and give them a pur- 
pose that’s more worth while.” 

Jones was silent for a long time. With counte- 
nance grim and set he glared straight ahead at the 
opposite wall. Finally he spoke. 

“Mac, you’ve got me, so what’s the use? It’s agree 
or go to jail, ain’t it? I guess you’re right about the 
results; I haven’t gained much, anyway. So I’ll call 
it quits, if you will. I suppose you’ve figured I could 
give my word and get loose, then catch you off your 
guard some other time?” 

“Yes,” replied McGregor, “I thought of that. I’ll 
trust you, though; you can’t help but know just what 
the finish would be. 

“Here’s your guns,” the old man continued, hand- 
ing the weapons to his late assailants. 

Somehow the grim fearlessness of the man moved 
Roarer far more than any appeal to his reason could 
have done. The hard, seamed face of the rustler 
changed from its leathery bronze to red, apparently in 
shame. He dropped the gun into its holster, and 
stood for a moment looking into McGregor’s un- 

245 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


wavering eyes. His right hand went toward the Scot 
impulsively, though he dropped it instantly. 

‘‘Mac,” he said with husky voice, “you’re a brave 
man — and a square one. I give you my word — if 
that means anything to you — from now on to let you 
alone.” 

McGregor held out his hand till Roarer’s rose 
again to grasp it. 

“Good night, boys,” he said, simply. 

Sid, still half-fearful of his father, lingered a mo- 
ment after the others had filed out. 

“Sid,” exclaimed Kenneth, “you are white, after 
all.” 

“You gave me a chance, kid,” was the boy’s reply, 
as he, too, slipped into the dark. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


IN SIGHT OF THE GOAL 

T he boys took up their care of the stock with 
renewed hope. ’ They often spoke regretfully 
of poor Spunk, and the clear loss of the two 
hundred dollars — the worst misfortune of all ; but they 
felt that Mr. McGregor would finally meet them half- 
way if successful with the cattle. There was still the 
margin of six expected calves above the number re- 
quired to meet the ranchman’s proposition. No longer 
harassed, the steers could yet be brought into market- 
able condition and thus do much toward meeting the 
financial demands of the ranch. With unusual vigi- 
lance it was possible to secure the last calf of the sea- 
son’s average. This result they would soon know for 
the last cow would calve before the fifteenth of Au- 
gust. If they should succeed in this, and by any 
chance win at least one substantial prize at the fair, 
high school would be assured. 

The days passed quickly, the revived anticipation 
bringing a zest into their duties, divided between the 
ranch and range. Occasionally another missing calf 
247 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


would depress the boys, but increasing success would 
encourage them anew. 

Late in July Kenneth made a count of the cows ex- 
pected to calve. Since the first two little fellows had 
been credited to the shortage of the previous year 
there had been but thirteen chances more than the 
hundred needed. During the season five had been 
added to the seven victims of the salted springs. 
There now remained but four to come and three 
needed to make the hoped-for hundred. 

This information Kenneth carried to his father. 
With little doubt as to the outcome, Mr. McGregor 
promised the boys that they could make their plans to 
begin school in September, providing, however, that 
they saved three of the four calves, and that they won 
prizes on Frontier Day to the amount of one hundred 
dollars, making a total of one hundred and seventy to 
apply on the farm debt, instead of the three hundred or 
more he had at first expected of them. This both wel- 
comed as a great concession, though it was exactly 
what they had really counted upon. It was the tacit 
agreement, however, that, should they fail through 
negligence to save the hundredth calf, or should fail 
to win the one hundred dollars, school must be dropped 
— a stipulation against which Arthur objected strenu- 
ously. 

“That's hardly fair, Kenneth, it seems to me. After 
we've worked so hard we don't deserve to lose just 
248 


IN SIGHT OF THE GOAL 


because we are short one calf. Suppose you get that 
big purse for riding — it’ll be just the same. We’ll have 
to quit — all for one measly, little calf. What differ- 
ence could it make to uncle?” 

‘‘It would sure be hard luck to fail, just for one,” 
agreed Kenneth, “and I have sort of felt that father 
would soften up if we got that close — just like he did 
with the three hundred. But we don’t need to beg 
him to do it, Art. If he takes the notion, he will; if 
not, we couldn’t move him with a barrel of tears. It’s 
a way of his — and I suppose it’s a good one, after 
all. He’ll stand pat if he makes a proposition; but he 
expects the other fellow to make good, too — no half- 
way business goes with him.” 

During the two weeks following, while attending 
their duties, the boys practiced daily with the rope, 
spending hours in throwing and tying lusty steers. 
Kenneth borrowed every “outlaw” on the neighboring 
ranches in order to punish himself with practice on 
their elusive backs. Occasionally they rode through 
the cattle, and during this time found and branded two 
new calves. 

“Just one more. Art, old man,” shouted Kenneth as 
they raced for home the second time, “and we win the 
game. There’ll be another for good measure, too.” 

When next they rode to the springs there was a lit- 
tle black fellow, just born and too young to brand. 
The cow was young and charged at the boys in frantic 
249 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


rage. They decided to take them over to the old cor- 
ral where the last bit of hay brought up a few weeks 
before for just such use and a troughful of water 
would keep the cow until her youngster grew stronger. 

They tried several times to throw the wobbly little 
chap across one of the saddles, but each time the cow 
charged in and forced them to scramble up on their 
ponies. 

“Suppose we let her go, Kent,*' suggested Arthur. 
“She's too tough a proposition for us." 

Kenneth readily agreed for he was impatient to get 
back to the ranch where he expected to find a new 
broncho that Colonel Hanby had promised to send 
over. So they left the cow and her calf with the herd. 

A week later when they rode down the slope toward 
the cattle Arthur noticed that the scattered herd 
seemed smaller than it should have been. 

“Looks like some of them had strayed away, Kent. 
Doesn’t it strike you that way?” 

“That’s right, Art ; there's a lot gone. We’ll prob- 
ably find them up the draw though." , 

They rode through the cattle and found a number 
of strays from other parts of the range mixed with 
those usually near the springs. A little anxious, they 
hurried on to the upper holes. Nearly all the missing 
cows were there ; though no trace of either of the two 
most important to the boys. They were now much 
concerned. 


250 


IN SIGHT OF THE GOAL 


**By George ! Arthur, this worries me. I wish now 
we had taken the calf over to the shack as we should 
have done. Some outfit has gone by with a bunch of 
cattle and mixed with ours. The cows will all come 
back but we stand a good chance to lose the calves. 
Say, I’m sorry we made that mistake.” 

‘‘Oh, we’ll find ’em, Kenneth. The boys would cut 
’em out before they’d gone far and start ’em back. 
Let’s ride out around a ways.” 

Accordingly they rode west toward the middle of 
Laramie Flats where the roundups usually converged. 
A number of the^ missing cattle were found grazing 
slowly back to their own pasture. 

“We’ll find ’em all over here somewhere,” declared 
Arthur. 

“We’ll find the cows, but I’m not so certain about 
the calves. There’s too many chances for them to 
stray off with shifting herds.” Kenneth was plainly 
disheartened. 

Toward noon their search was half-rewarded by the 
discovery of the second cow among the sharp gullies 
of Pawnee Creek, five miles to the southwest. She 
stood alone, disconsolate, licking her new-born calf; 
the calf was dead. 

Both stared at the find in silent dismay. 

“They’ve run her too hard through these arroyas — 
that’s how it happened, Arthur,” said Kenneth at last, 
dejectedly. “Well, it means we’re just this much 

251 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


nearer whipped/' he added, turning his horse away. 
‘Come on, we’ll go some now till we find that other 
chap. If we don’t ” 

For hours the boys dashed from one bunch of cat- 
tle to another, through the whole length of Cedar and 
Spring Creeks, past the Buttes, through Pawnee Pass, 
— over nearly the whole of Laramie Flats. But they 
found no trace of the missing cow and calf. When 
they met the third time it was midway between the 
Jones ranch and the Springs. 

“We might as well give it up, Arthur,” decided 
Kenneth. “There isn’t the faintest chance in the 
world that the cow could have got outside of where 
we’ve been. She’s been stolen — that’s about the size 
of it. The only place we missed is the draw running 
north from where Colonel Hanby ranges; it’s hardly 
worth while but we might as well run by there and 
then go home. We’re done for.” Both boys had lost 
heart completely, for it meant humiliation and failure 
to them. 

The sun was nearly down when they reached Han- 
by ’s branch of Spring Creek, several miles west of 
their own. As they came down into a tiny flat, 
bounded by two sharp hills Arthur spied the missing 
cow, with a cry of joy. 

“There she is, there she is, Kenneth! — and the 
blackie, too.” 


252 


IN SIGHT OF THE GOAL 


They dashed down to where the cow grazed con- 
tentedly, with the little calf cavorting around her. 

‘That’s one on us, Art,” laughed Kenneth, elatedly. 
“I thought of this very place but made up my mind 
it wasn’t worth while to go by. Well, come on, let’s 
finish him. It’s getting late.” 

Arthur stood off the angry cow while Kenneth 
caught her calf and threw it struggling and bawling 
over his saddle. Then they started hurriedly toward 
the little shack where the branding-irons were kept. 

“Say, Arthur, see that little black over there. He’s 
a perfect match for ours except for that white on his 
foot. He’s not branded, either,” remarked Kenneth 
as they rode away from Hanby’s cattle. 

It took but a few minutes to ride down to the shack, 
the cow charging along distractedly. Kenneth dropped 
his burden over into the corral so that they would 
be free from the interference of the cow. 

As he was building a fire for the irons Arthur star- 
tled him with a great yell from where he was tying 
down the calf. 

“Kenneth, Kenneth, this calf’s branded already.” 

Kenneth dropped his match and vaulted into the 
pen. “Where? How? Whose? It can’t be. Art?” 
he shouted. 

“There it is, Kenneth,” said Arthur, putting his 
finger on two well-defined, letters, “and see whose it 
is? H8!” 


253 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

“Colonel Hanby! Of all — he^s made a mistake, 
that’s all,” declared Kenneth instantly. “The boys 
have mixed him with that other black we saw.” 

“Then we’re out,” cried Arthur; “we’ve lost the 
game, after all.” 

“I guess we are — unless, by George ! Art, he’s got 
our calf, and we’ll get his, that’s what we’ll do — and 
do it quick. Come on.” 

Kenneth rushed to his horse and in a moment was 
flying back toward the little bunch of cattle, Arthur 
finally catching the spirit in time to arrive just as his 
cousin had thrown a rope over the second black calf’s 
head. 

“Pile ’im up here. Art ; we’re not going to lose this 
game just because Colonel Hanby ’s men made a bob- 
ble.” 

Arthur, in a daze, helped with the kicking young- 
ster till Kenneth finally had him subdued. 

“Say, old man,” he ventured, after they had raced 
along for several minutes with no thought for the 
frenzied cow, “this is Colonel Hanby’s calf, isn’t it? 
Aren’t we running a little risk to slap our brand on 
and have him trail the colonel’s cow back ?” 

“He’ll be ours in about five minutes, just the same as 
the other one is Colonel Hanby’s now. There’ll be 
two calves that got their mothers mixed, that’s all,” 
said Kenneth curtly. 


254 


IN SIGHT OF THE GOAL 


‘‘But his was a mistake, Kenneth; and ours isn’t. 
Isn’t it mighty like rustling?” 

“We can’t let a piece of carelessness beat us out of 
school — not after what we have been up against. It’s 
expecting just a little too much.” 

“That’s right, Kenneth,” admitted Arthur. “Of 
course Colonel Hanby would fix it up in a minute, if 
we went to him. Still, with the thousands he’s got, 
it would have to be just our word for it. He’d give us 
the calf — or a dozen for that matter — but he’d chuckle 
to himself how we kids thought we were working him. 
This will fix it up without any trouble.” 

Nothing more was said by either boy till they had 
reached the shack. They built a fire of “chips” and 
waited for the irons to heat. Arthur had regained his 
usual spirits and was inclined to joke about the oc- 
currence. 

“Say, old man, but that was a close shave! If we’d 
lost out by our taking the chance with that cow and 
calf it wouldn’t have done us any good to whine — it 
would have been all our own fault.” 

“Gee!” he went on after a silence, “I didn’t know 
how much I had counted on school till I saw that last 
calf lying there with the old colonel’s brand on him. 
I believe I could have throttled the old duffer, for a 
second or two.” 

Kenneth made no reply. Instead of enjoying the 
triumph of the moment of their assured success he 

255 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


sat gloomily staring into the fire whose darting flames 
now made long, fluttering shadows in the gray dusk 
of the corral. 

‘‘She’s red,” announced Arthur, half lifting the iron 
from the glowing coals. 

Kenneth rose slowly, and mechanically seized the 
hind legs of their victim whose head was tied to one 
of the posts of the corral. He flopped him to the 
ground, drew one leg under and past his arm and 
braced his foot heavily against the other from be- 
hind. 

“Ready?” cried Arthur; but getting no answer from 
Kenneth he seized the long rod and rushed to the pros- 
trate calf. Just as the hair sizzled from the heat of 
the approaching iron Kenneth put out his hand. 

“Hold on. Art.” 

“Why, what’s the matter?” demanded Arthur. 

“We can’t do this, after all. It’s plain stealing.” 

“But Hanby’s got our calf now; we can’t get it 
back,” remonstrated Arthur, determined that the de- 
cision to adjust the matter themselves was a good one. 

“Yes, and we’d never be able to square it with our- 
selves if we stole his, even if he did get ours by mis- 
take. No, Art, it was tough at first to think of hav- 
ing to give up school, just because of some stupid cow- 
boys, and I’ve made a fool of myself. But I’d rather 
let somebody else fix up this thing. So far as we are 
concerned we’ve lost the game.” Kenneth had re- 
256 


IN SIGHT OF THE GOAL 


leased the calf as he spoke, and flung open the gate. 
The calf dashed out to his mother now charging 
around the corral. 

With heavy hearts the two boys rode slowly home. 
Failure, after nearly two years of planning, hard, 
grinding work, and odds that they had met un- 
daunted ! There was no pleasure in defeat, for them, 
no matter how stubborn had been the fights. 

It was dark when they rode into the yard. Mr. 
McGregor met them at the gate. 

‘‘Well, boys, what luck today? Did the last calf 
come?’^ he inquired. 

“They both came, father,^’ replied Kenneth huskily. 
“Colonel Hanby’s men got his brand on one; the 
other’s dead. I guess we’ve lost the game.” 

The boys rode on to the barn while Mr. McGregor 
shut the gate behind him, and followed. 

“You will be glad to know, boys, that the colonel 
was down this afternoon to see me about that calf. 
It seems his men took it by mistake, but found it out 
at once. They left the other calf — one much like ours 
— unbranded; they will bring it down tomorrow and 
exchange. So you have not failed, after all,” said he 
a moment later, as he walked on past them toward 
the house. 

“Gee!” exclaimed Arthur, “that’s two close shaves 
today. It’s a good thing we didn’t brand that calf.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE RUINED COLT 

T he boys went out to Morgan’s but twice to see 
Spunk after he had been condemned. Arthur 
went alone the first time. He gloomily re- 
ported that the colt was nervous and flighty, and that 
his coat was thin and dead — just as was expected. 
Kenneth went along a week later. Spunk stood de- 
jectedly to one side, his nose between his forelegs, 
occasionally tossing his head in the air. 

*T wish I hadn’t come. Art,” said Kenneth as they 
rode slowly away. ‘Tt’s a shame that a good little 
horse like Spunk has to suffer so.” 

‘Tt sure is,” replied Arthur. ‘T’ve sort of hoped 
he might get over it after a while ; but he seems to be 
worse.” 

‘‘Oh, a locoed horse is a goner from the start. He 
might as well be put out of his misery at once.” 

“I — I suppose so. Guess maybe I’d better have 
Morgan take him off up the canon and — and — put him 
to sleep. I’d feel better. But I hate to think he can 
never get well; it seems like there might be some 
chance we were mistaken.” 

258 


THE RUINED COLT 


They rode on home in gloomy silence. Arthur did 
not give Morgan any order, and for weeks Spunk 
seemed to have been forgotten. 

Early in August, just when the last of the Mc- 
Gregor calves were expected. Jack Porter sent word 
from Denver that he would be down in three weeks to 
take in the Frontier celebration. He expected to see 
*‘the little boss pull down the money in that half-mile 
dash,” and would take him back to town when he 
went. 

‘‘No use to fetch him in,” said Arthur miserably to* 
his uncle that morning. “But I suppose Mr. Porter 
might as well see him. He made fun of me when I 
was up there and told him about it — declared I was 
trying to jump my bargain, because I probably had a 
better offer. I’ll bring him down this afternoon.” 

He came in from Morgan’s just at dark leading 
Spunk. Ten minutes later he entered the house with 
a broad smile on his face, much to the surprise of the 
family, for they expected to see the usual look of 
gloom. 

“What’s up?” demanded Kenneth. “Why so gay?” 

“You’ll be gay too when you know what I do,” an- 
swered Arthur mysteriously, getting ready for supper. 

“Out with it,” cried Kenneth. “What is it? Is it 
about Spunk — is he better?” 

“Never you mind ; just wait till morning, and you’ll 
get a little surprise.” Arthur grinningly refused to 

259 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

answer any questions and fell upon his supper raven- 
ously. 

Kenneth was sure his cousin’s air of mystery was 
occasioned by some change in Spunk, so he rushed for 
the lantern, lighted it, and dashed out to the corrals. 
In three minutes he was back, shouting : 

‘‘Hooray! Hooray! Mother, Father, Spunk’s bet- 
ter — all right again. He’s as slick and round as a 
pig — looks as though he’d never been anything else. 
Art, you snide, why didn’t you tell us?” He made a 
dive at his cousin, half tipping him over, just as he 
had lifted a cup of water to his lips. The liquid went 
into Arthur’s collar. Like a flash Arthur was up and 
grappling with Kenneth ; for several seconds they exe- 
cuted a veritable war-dance, overturning chairs and 
endangering the lamp on the table. 

“Come, come, laddies,” cautioned Mrs. McGregor, 
herself as elated as her boys, “you’d better be getting 
your books out instead of tearing the house down.” 

Kenneth was jubilant all evening, bursting at times 
into joyful predictions of the future. Arthur was far 
less demonstrative, for apparently his exuberance had 
spent itself on the way in from the pasture with 
Spunk. 

The light of the morning more than verified Ken- 
neth’s description. Every sign of loco was gone 
from the colt. He had spread out wonderfully and 
was a perfect beauty, his legs straight and slim, coat 
260 


THE RUINED COLT 


smooth and glossy, neck proudly arched, and his muz- 
zle once more covered with hair. It was plainly to 
be seen that there had been a mistake as to his being 
locoed. 

One thing, however, seemed puzzling. Spunk had 
forgotten completely that a halter had ever been on 
his head. He was gentle and steady, though lively, 
and did not resent handling, but showed no evidence 
that he remembered his previous training. When Ar- 
thur attempted to lead him about he was stubborn, 
exasperatingly stubborn, tossing his head and occa- 
sionally rearing back. 

Kenneth saw that Arthur needed help, so ran into 
the corral to urge on the pony from behind. For 
some reason Arthur objected to any assistance, con- 
tending that he would fight it out alone. Kenneth ig- 
nored the objection with a laugh. 

“You needn’t be stubborn, too. Art, just because the 
colt has set the example. The two of us can soon 
make him remember.” 

Spunk was not vicious, but he simply laid back his 
ears and waited for the boys to push and drag him 
along — something he had never done before, even 
when first handled. For nearly an hour they tugged, 
twisted, and wheedled, but Spunk remained practically 
immovable. They could not inveigle him from the 
corral even. Finally, tired and out of breath, Ken- 
neth sat down to rest. 

261 


THE LUCK OF LARAJNIIE RANCH 


“Say, Art,” he observed after a moment, “Spunk 
has grown a lot since we saw him last, hasn't he? 
Isn’t it queer, too, that we were fooled about his being 
locoed? It must have been lice, or mange. I don’t 
see why we didn’t have sense enough to use a glass on 
him. I wonder if he has outgrown that little scar on 
his heel ? Have you noticed ?” 

Kenneth got up to see for himself, but Arthur sud- 
denly jerked the pony around and insisted that his 
cousin take the strap again while he jumped behind 
with a whip. 

“We’ve wasted time enough trying to yank our 
arms out of joint; we’ll just touch the stubborn fel- 
low up a bit.” 

The whip brought results. But after spending the 
whole day with the colt the boys could not see that 
he remembered ever having been broken to lead, 
though he stood quietly enough under the harness or 
saddle. Whether he had been locoed or not, it was 
plain that his trouble had changed him. 

Kenneth was still curious about the old scar, so the 
next day when Arthur happened to be away, he went 
out to examine the colt carefully. He was much sur- 
prised to find all trace of the wire-cut gone — his father 
had told him the cut was deep and would never be 
outgrown. Kenneth had no suspicion that anything 
was wrong, but something caused him to stoop and 
look up under the pony’s barrel. A strange, fright- 
262 


THE RUINED COLT 


ened expression came into his face as he stared at a 
little white spot between the forelegs. Spunk did not 
have a white hair on his body ! 

Kenneth straightened suddenly and started on the 
run toward the house, where his father was repairing 
a broken step. ‘Tather!” he called when he had 
nearly reached the yard. Then he stopped as suddenly 
as he had started, and turned back toward the barn. 

“What was it you wanted, my boy?” asked the 
father, wondering at Kenneth’s strange movements. 

“Oh, nothing. I guess I won’t bother you,” replied 
Kenneth carelessly, proceeding on his way. 

When inside the barn he dropped limply on a pile 
of hay. “What horse is this?” he thought. “Where 
is Spunk? Does Arthur know? Does — Arthur — 
know ?” For a moment he was as weak and unnerved 
as had been Arthur when Wilson told them of Spunk’s 
trouble. Then he began to think the problem out. 

It was soon perfectly clear to him. Some ranch- 
man had a good match for Spunk in Morgan’s pas- 
ture — except for that scar and the spot of white. 
Spunk must still be in the field. Arthur knew — of 
course he knew — for why had he acted so queerly? 

Kenneth had never felt more miserable in his life. 
Arthur a horse-thief! Not so very many years ago 
they hung horse-thieves without ado. But it was not 
so much the fear of Arthur’s punishment as the awful 
realization that Arthur, his own cousin, was — that. 

263 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


His first impulse had been to tell his father — he 
could fix the matter up before it went too far. But to 
“squeal/’ even for Arthur’s sake, had seemed too little 
and mean. Surely there must be some other way. He 
might drop a hint to his cousin that there had been 
a mistake with the ponies. But Arthur would know 
that Kenneth did not think it really had been a mis- 
take, and then there would be no more good times 
between them. No, he must not tell his father, must 
not let on to Arthur. There must still be some 
bond between them. Arthur must still have faith in 
him — no matter what the outcome ; and he ought still 
to have faith in Arthur. Of course he had faith in 
Art — why shouldn’t he have? Art had always been 
“square,” till now. Who wouldn’t take it hard to 
lose what Art had lost? And who wouldn’t be 
tempted to do exactly what he was doing? “No,” de- 
cided Kenneth at last, “I’ll just keep quiet. Art will 
come to his senses in a day or two.” 

It was three weeks until Jack Porter was due. One 
of them passed, full of busy practice for the approach- 
ing contests. But the strange pony was still in the 
corral — ^greatly to Kenneth’s surprise. After the first 
two days Kenneth began to watch Arthur closely. He 
was certain the matter would end all right, but was 
curious to know how long Arthur could hold out. 
There seemed no danger in waiting, for the colts 
were as near alike as two peas. His father had been 
264 


THE RUINED COLT 


greatly astonished at Spunk’s recovery, but apparently 
did not doubt the identity of the pony in the corral. 
Several of the neighbors had seen the recovered horse, 
and, without question, considered it a good joke that 
Jim McGregor had been fooled so easily. It struck 
Kenneth that Arthur might have been honestly mis- 
taken, after all; perhaps he had never looked for 
Spunk’s scar and had not seen the white spot under 
his barrel. But this he could hardly believe, for to 
Kenneth’s keen eye Arthur seemed to be growing rest- 
less and very uncomfortable. After the first two days 
he neglected the pony’s exercise and never went near 
the corrals if anyone else was there. Kenneth saw 
that he was having a tremendous struggle with him- 
self, and knew that Arthur had not been fooled. He, 
himself, had been tempted and remembered how stub- 
bornly he had given in. 

At the end of the week Kenneth rode over to Mor- 
gan’s and went through the herd for a look at Spunk. 
He found a good excuse for Arthur’s not bringing in 
his own colt : Spunk was not in the pasture. Probably 
he had been taken away by the other owner, who evi- 
dently had not discovered the mistake. It was pos- 
sible that Arthur had really been mistaken, at first, 
for with but the one colt in the field there had been 
no other choice. It was not hard, now, to see why the 
fight was a stubborn one. Spunk was gone — stolen, 
perhaps, and it might mean the one colt, or none. 

265 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


But Arthur spent only two more days of misery, 
in which he accomplished little and wasted many hours 
alone at odd, trifling jobs, to the amazement of his 
aunt. 

On the third and fourth days he rode away and was 
gone from morning until late at night. Kenneth 
knew that he had won, and was bound now to find 
Spunk. The next morning he was up and out of the 
house before daylight. Kenneth watched him from 
his window. Arthur took the strange colt from the 
corral and led him away toward Morgan's. 

He was back at noon. The family were eating din- 
ner and did not see him until he stood in the yard 
calling to Kenneth. 

‘Ken, come out here to the corral — and bring Uncle 
Jim." 

Mr. McGregor heard, so without a word the two 
started for the barn, leaving Mrs. McGregor in the 
doorway, wondering. Kenneth glanced up and saw 
tears rolling down his father's cheeks. Instantly he 
guessed that his father had known of the affair from 
the start, though he had not said a word, and had ap- 
parently not noticed Arthur's distress. 

Arthur opened the gate and pointed to the colt in- 
side. There stood the real Spunk twitching nervously, 
his coat rough and dead. Occasionally he dropped 
his head to rub his nose between his forelegs. 

“There's Spunk. I've had another pony here till 
266 


THE RUINED COLT 


today, just like him — and it wasn’t accident either. 
Spunk was gone at first, so I figured I was winner.” 
Arthur said this fiercely, as though thoroughly angry 
with himself. 

Mr. McGregor showed no astonishment. He sooke 
kindly and earnestly. 

‘‘I am very sorry, my boy. I know how bitter a 
disappointment this has been to you. I’m glad you 
did not wait too long.” 

Arthur was surprised. He lifted his head quickly, 
a frightened look on his haggard face. 

“Why, Uncle Jim!” he exclaimed hoarsely, “how 
did you know? When did you find out that — 
that ” 

“I knew it from the first, laddie. But — no matter. 
I knew you would soon see your way out. It’s in the 
blood, I think, for I’ve never known a McGregor to 
go wrong, and fail to find his way back.” 


CHAPTER XX 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 

T he McGregors were just rising from the break- 
fast table a few days later when a pony 
dashed into the yard, followed in a moment 
by a sharp rap at the door and the peremptory voice 
of Colonel Hanby. Scarcely waiting for a response, 
the colonel strode in and began speaking. 

“Say, Mac, Pm in a frightful dilemma and I want 
you to help me out. The stock inspector showed up 
last night and ordered me to dip every one of that 
mixed bunch I brought in from Frenchman Creek — 
says they have the mange pretty bad down there and 
he can’t run any risk of spreading it through the Flats 
again. Now, that’s all right. If my stock need dip- 
ping, they’ll get it — and I make no complaint. But 
here I am, ready to start for North Fork tomorrow 
morning with six hundred picked feeders. My buyer 
passes the head of the Fork in just ten days, trailing 
two thousand he picked up among the nesters of Wild 
Horse River, and he wants me to join him there with 
my bunch without fail. I have allowed myself just 
time enough to get there handily. If I’m late I lose a 
268 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 


nice sale, and will have the pleasure of back-trailing 
the six hundred for my pains. So you see I can’t 
delay the start. But on top of this comes the worst. 
A rider came in from the overland trail an hour since 
and said he passed Welcome Spring two days ago and 
saw thirty head of cattle — half of them mine — fight- 
ing over a tiny dribble that was about petered out; 
said there were several dead ones already. Now you 
see just how I’m fixed. I’ve got to get those cattle 
dipped and out to Spring Creek within forty-eight 
hours, for there’s no feed at the ranch ; the steers must 
start for North Fork tomorrow morning; and that 
miserable bunch out there in the desert must be taken 
care of — whether they’re all mine or not. The trouble 
is, I’ve got barely men enough to handle the drive and 
the dipping — providing I make a hand of myself. 

“ ‘Now,’ thinks I, when I found I was facing a 
poser, ‘those McGregor boys can spare a few days 
off, and they’re just the ones for that Welcome job; 
besides, they’d like mighty well to earn a few extra 
dollars toward that high school deal of theirs.’ So, 
here I am. What do you lads think of the run out 
there at about five a day for your trouble? It will 
take you till some time tomorrow to reach Welcome 
Spring and likely three days or more to get back to 
the Flats with the cattle. That’ll leave you just time 
to fix up for the Frontier doings in Sterling. What 
do you say ?” 


269 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


The boys were eager for the trip. Mr. McGregor 
readily gave his consent, for he, too, was glad of any 
opportunity to add to their meager purse. 

^‘How far is Welcome Spring from the first water- 
hole this side?’' questioned Arthur, after they had de- 
cided to go. 

“Twenty miles, and a bad trip,” answered Colonel 
Hanby none too cheerfully; “but it’s thirty miles and 
a worse road between the next two. If you find 
enough water at the other holes the cattle can stand 
the trip; if you don’t, if the whole desert out there is 
dried up, then — well, just do the best you can, boys; 
that’s all I ask — and I know it will be as much as any 
of my men could do. If you get them as far as the 
Buttes turn them loose and come home.” 

In less than an hour Kenneth and Arthur were 
dashing across the prairie, canteens filled with water, 
oats and generous lunches in their saddle rolls. Noon 
found them with the Jones ranch far behind, and 
looming before them the massive, frowning walls of 
Pawnee Buttes, which marked the upper boundary of 
Laramie Flats. 

In another half hour the ponies had swung around 
the Buttes and were mounting the brow of the long, 
steep incline that led up to the real tableland — the be- 
ginning of a desert that reached more than a hundred 
miles into the distance. 

Here and there in the vast expanse were occasional 
270 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 

oases, each a tiny stream trickling from between the 
strata of an outcropping ledge into a mud- or rock- 
bound pool, from there bravely facing the hungry 
sand, to be quickly swallowed up. At rare intervals 
a spring might be found which poured forth a lusty 
stream, driving its way through a mile or two of nar- 
row, semi-fertile swale, affording a brief haven for a 
few adventurous cattle which had drifted out of 
bounds. But so far apart were these that a stranger 
to the region might wander for days in futile search 
of water. 

A winding, fluted trail meandered across this waste, 
a seldom-traveled road that connected the valley of 
Beaver Creek with Laramie Flats. It touched at Lost 
Creek, Cottonwood Basin, and Welcome Spring, the 
three water-holes along its hundred miles. Over half 
its length it traversed yielding sand. Ofttimes the 
furious winds that swept across the vast plateau ob- 
literated this trail, so that only intuition could guide 
chance travelers to their destination. 

Kenneth and Arthur reached the crest of the rise 
and struck into the trail on their long ride to Wel- 
come Spring. The ponies pattered briskly ahead over 
the solid stretches, but were forced to trudge labori- 
ously through the long sweeps of sand. The spring 
where the cattle were was nearly sixty miles from the 
Buttes, and one hundred from the McGregors’ ranch. 
The boys planned to reach Lost Creek Spring ten 
271 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


miles above the Buttes, feed and water their ponies, 
then after a brief rest to press forward and complete 
the journey to Welcome Spring that same night. It 
would permit them to travel in the cool of the even- 
ing, and, at the same time, to accomplish the distance 
in the briefest practicable period. 

Lost Creek was the best spring along the trail. Its 
flow was usually copious, watering a little vale of per- 
haps a dozen acres. At the lower end of the draw the 
creek dropped from sight, later to reappear in a splen- 
did spring that leaped from the face of one of the 
Buttes, ten miles below. 

At three o’clock the boys rode up to Lost Creek 
Spring. Kenneth was somewhat surprised to find that 
the stream was reduced to less than half its usual vol- 
ume, and that all cattle had deserted the brown patch 
of curling buffalo grass. 

“I didn’t think it had been so dry this summer. Art ; 
did you?” he exclaimed. ‘Lost Creek ought to carry 
twice as much water.” 

“I can’t say as to that,” replied Arthur, “but I know 
there’s been only one good shower in two months. 
I’m surprised there’s any moisture here at all.” 

“Cottonwood Spring is apt to be dry; it isn’t any 
too strong at its best. I’m thinking we’ll have a sorry 
time with those cattle if Cottonwood and Welcome are 
both played out.” 

“I hope they’re not, Kent. It won’t be any too 
272 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 

pleasant for us, even with plenty of water. How far 
did uncle say it is between springs?” 

‘‘Thirty miles from here to Cottonwood Sink; 
twenty from there to Welcome. Twenty-five of the 
way is actual sand. All of it is bare and dry as a 
bone.” 

“Gee! Pleasant prospect — I must say.” 

At four they were again in the saddle, driving into 
the west, with fifty miles before them. Since the trail 
curved out several miles from a straight line in order 
to pass Cottonwood Spring, Kenneth decided to quit 
the track and strike directly for Welcome, thereby 
saving at least five miles of the journey. He felt cer- 
tain that he knew the locality well enough to attempt 
it, though but few landmarks broke the limitless ex- 
panse ; only the cacti, mesquite, and occasional tufts of 
sand-grass had the courage to face the desert. 

Just before dark, when nearly opposite Cottonwood 
Spring, the boys crossed the tracks of a wagon which 
had come in from the north headed for the basin. 

“See there. Art,” exclaimed Kenneth, “whoever left 
these tracks must have wasted a lot of energy.” 

“How’s that? Off the road, do you mean?” 

“Yes. Either left or lost the trail, and there’s no 
telling how far he drove to find it again. It’s a pity 
that strangers to this country haven’t sense enough to 
stick to the road. They might know that if there 

273 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


were any better route the cowboys would have struck 
it long ago/’ 

‘'Queer, Kent, this track must be hours and hours 
old. See how the ruts have rounded off and filled up ? 
Yet we didn’t find any trace of campers at Lost Creek, 
did we?” 

“No. They’re headed for the Cottonwood and 
likely camped there. They may have been off the road 
for several days and were mighty glad to stop. We’ll 
find their tracks when we pass there with the cattle.” 

At midnight the two weary ponies trotted down the 
little slope to a dark group huddled about Welcome 
Spring. The moon was bright and the boys could dis- 
cern a half-dozen gray forms scattered here and there, 
some yards from the pool. A dismal lowing came in- 
cessantly from the mass around the spring. 

Kenneth crowded his pony through to the basin, 
directing Arthur to drive the cattle back so that he 
could discover the situation. 

“Just as I thought,” he said, after a hasty examina- 
tion. “There isn’t much water, to be sure, but the 
crazy cattle have churned the little that’s coming into 
mud, as fast as it gets to the pool.” 

“Do you think we can let it settle a while and 
manage to water the ponies? They’ll never stand it 
through if we can’t.” 

“Oh, yes; and I half believe we can scoop the mud 
274 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 

out of the basin and water most of the cattle by relays. 
There’s moisture enough if it’s handled right.” 

The boys were anxious to start home with the cat- 
tle immediately, so that the best might be made of the 
night. But their success with the herd depended upon 
the most skillful conservation of strength. It was 
plain, therefore, that to water, even half water, the 
famished creatures meant in the end a saving of time. 
Accordingly, Kenneth directed Arthur to tether the 
ponies and give them a double-handful, each, of oats. 
While Arthur was doing this Kenneth busied himself 
with the basin, utilizing for this a tomato can some 
cowboy had left on the ledge of shale above. Arthur 
soon joined him, scooping out mud and gravel indus- 
triously with his hands. 

Soon the muck had been lowered to a depth of more 
than a foot. To the satisfaction of the boys the water 
trickled in nearly as fast as the pool could be cleared. 

“Suppose we let her settle a bit, then try the ponies. 
They’re teasing hard for a drink,” said Arthur. 
“Wouldn’t it be great if we could start the whole 
bunch home with a good drink apiece?” 

The horses drank gingerly, but they got their fill. 
By relays of four or five at one time the thirty head 
of cattle were permitted to drink. The water con- 
tinued to percolate from the sand, slowly, then, just 
as the last of the herd was drinking, the flow ceased 
and the basin was drained. 

275 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘Lucky it held out,” said Kenneth. “There seemed 
to be just enough in the gravel — and no more. At any 
rate, we’re starting well — there’s not a thirsty one 
left.” 

Leaving the desolate bodies of the five less fortu- 
nate cattle, weaker ones that had succumbed to the 
days of awful privation, the boys started with their 
herd. They pressed eagerly on, determined to cover 
many miles while the night was cool and the cattle 
freshened by their drink. The low moaning had 
ceased. They trudged silently on, seemingly glad they 
were quitting the place. 

Daybreak found them miles on their way, and just 
topping a sandy knoll that lifted them above the vast, 
treeless plain. The sun came up like a great, white 
ball of fire, instantly starting the quivering waves of 
heat along the horizon. Even behind them, within an 
hour, the desert changed miraculously into an immense 
sea whose white, shimmering billows rolled unceas- 
ingly up to the very edge of the world. Above the 
horizon was mirrored a second plain, along whose 
edge ran a wooded stream. 

Arthur saw this with great astonishment. He had 
not been above the Buttes before. 

“What’s that, Kent?” he asked. “It can’t be all 
desolation over there.” 

“Beaver Creek, sixty miles beyond Welcome Spring. 
276 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 


That’s a great mirage, isn’t it? Beats the way Lewis 
Canon shows up down on the Flats.” 

The one lonely sentinel of Cottonwood Spring was 
now visible about eight miles ahead. The mirage had 
lifted it far into the sky so that it seemed to be 
dancing fantastic guard over the precious drops in its 
keeping. Toward this the procession crept, the weaker 
cattle lagging wearily behind. One tiny calf, two days 
old, wavered uncertainly on its legs for many rods, 
finally dropping limply on the white-hot sand when 
yet two miles from the resting-place. The mother, 
herself weary and distressed, went on. 

‘‘Shall ,we leave the poor little duffer, Kent ?” asked 
Arthur, who was first to see him fall. 

Kenneth stopped and surveyed the panting calf. 
“Hate to,” he said, “but we’ve got too hard a trip 
ahead to be soft-hearted now. He ought to have his 
chance, though.” 

“Suppose we give him a boost for a ways — as far 
as the spring, anyway. Maybe he’ll pick up and get 
through yet.” 

“Just what I had decided. Art. We’ll take turns 
with him,” replied Kenneth. “It may do no good — 
only prolong the youngster’s misery. His mother has 
no milk for him — may not get through herself. But 
here goes.” With that Kenneth dismounted and 
swung the wilted calf to his saddle. 

Two hundred yards from the pool the cattle scented 
277 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


the mud and forged ahead at a lumbering trot — all but 
a dozen or more whose exhaustion was more intense 
than their thirst. The leaders dashed up to the basin 
and plunged in knee-deep, only to find that the mud 
was thick and viscid, the water gone. 

Kenneth and Arthur, from the rear, anxiously 
watched the herd as it crowded into the water-hole; 
they feared the very condition the cattle had found. 
With hearts sinking they saw the frantic efforts of the 
animals to discover what was not there. Thirty miles 
of white-hot sand, under a merciless, mocking sun, lay 
before them, the boys realized, without a drop of 
moisture to break the grip of the thirst already gnaw- 
ing at the stock. 

With blank faces they rode up to the fighting, bel- 
lowing mass. Kenneth let the calf slip to the ground, 
and both boys sat for a moment staring dully at the 
scene. Their courageous little ponies, long since in- 
ured to hours of thirst, stood uncomplaining; they 
made no effort to reach the pool. 

“Looks bad,” observed Arthur simply. 

“Sure does — for the weaker ones especially. Those 
steers can stand it well enough — they’ve got to. But 
that experience back at Welcome cut their endurance 
down by half. We mustn’t expect too much.” 

“How soon shall we quit this place? The sooner 
the better ?” queried Arthur. 

“No. Some of them are dead tired; the rest will 
278 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 


do them good, in spite of no water. Besides there's 
considerable sand-grass around here and they can pick 
up a few bites to eat. We'll drive 'em out of the hole 
and see if we can get a few drops for the ponies, like 
we did back at Welcome." 

The thirst of the cattle was not so intense, yet, as 
it had been at Welcome Spring; so, after they were 
driven from the basin the stronger ones spread out 
and began nibbling at the tufts of grass. The old and 
weaker cattle lay wearily down, content to remain 
until driven up again. 

While the boys were waiting impatiently for the 
sun to sink they discovered with surprise that there 
were no traces of the wagon whose tracks they had 
encountered the day before. 

‘That's odd. Art," remarked Kenneth. ‘T was sure 
the wagon was headed straight for Cottonwood 
Spring. Wonder which way it went?" 

“They had a hunch, likely, that they'd find nothing 
here, so swung off toward Lost Creek. I suppose 
there's a chance they missed the trail altogether; the 
wind seems to have wiped it out along here." 

Just at sundown the caravan began the next lap of 
their journey. Much of the road was soft and yield- 
ing, many of the cattle close to exhaustion, so progress 
was slow. Daybreak found them with twelve of the 
thirty miles to Lost Creek still ahead, and a half- 
dozen cows refusing to respond even to the biting lash 
279 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


of the quirts. Chance had guided them into one of 
the occasional basins between hills which possessed 
fertility enough to nourish a little patch of buffalo 
grass. Here they stopped, resolved again to rest 
through the oppressive heat. 

Around them, on all sides as far as the eye could 
reach, stretched the mocking mirage of the desert, the 
undulating waves of an inland phantom sea. Its bil- 
lows beckoned alluringly to those who, through bit- 
ter experience, had not learned its treachery. Ken- 
neth and Arthur and their ponies knew; they were 
content to wait patiently for the cattle as they nibbled 
at the sparse brown tufts of grass. 

At sundown they climbed out of the little depres- 
sion and began what the boys considered to be the 
last difficult stretch of the journey. Twelve miles 
would carry them to abundant water at Lost Creek 
and enough feed to give the cattle new life for the 
next ten miles, which would bring them to Laramie 
Flats. 

Just as the shadows were creeping into the nooks 
and crannies of the hills the herd stumbled over the 
crest of a promontory that looked out on a broad, 
level plateau. 

‘‘Kent, Kent,” shouted Arthur suddenly, pointing 
ahead to a little hollow a hundred or more yards to 
the side, “there’s our covered wagon — off there ! 

280 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 


See? Wonder why we never struck their track but 
once/^ 

‘Tve wondered, too. They must have missed the 
trail when they crossed it, so have been too far south 
for us. Seems as though they’ve been pretty slow 
getting anywhere. They’ve sure been lost — and I 
wonder how they’re off for water.” 

‘‘They must be in a bad way — unless they found 
some other water-holes besides the ones we’ve passed.” 

“There aren’t any within fifty miles.” 

“Then I pity ’em. We’d better ride out there and 
see,” suggested Arthur. “We’ve a little water in our 
cans yet. It won’t go far, but it will brace ’em up 
for the long road to Lost Creek. We mustn’t waste 
any time, though, for it’s going to hurry us to make 
Sterling in time for the first events. We mustn’t for- 
get that I’m booked for that pony race at ten o’clock.” 

“We can spare the ten minutes it will take to give 
those folks our water, and set them on the right track. 
We’ll be home with half a day to the good, as it is.” 

Leaving the cattle the boys scurried over the sand 
toward the wagon. As they approached they saw the 
tracks beyond leading directly toward the trail. 

“The poor fools must have been chasing the mirage 
thinking to find a pond of water in this desert waste,” 
said Kenneth. 

As they rode down into the depression they found 
the emaciated team standing in hollow-eyed dejection 
281 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


several yards from the wagon. They were unhar- 
nessed and free. The front wheels were sunk to the 
hubs in the sand, and a beaten area at the front told 
the story of the last desperate, futile struggle of the 
exhausted ponies. 

A strange stillness hung over the little scene. 

“Hello, in there,” called Kenneth. “Have you given 
up the game?” 

There was no answer. A quick, frightened glance 
flashed from one lad to the other. 

“Too late, do you suppose?” whispered Arthur, a 
queer sensation that he had never felt before coming 
over him. “Don’t, Ken; don’t — wait!” he gasped as 
Kenneth reached for the canvas flap. 

Kenneth gave no heed but pulled back the canopy 
and peered inside. 

“Gone 1” he announced, relief in his voice. 

“Oh!” was Arthur’s ejaculation. “I — I — I was 
afraid — I didn’t know ” 

It was growing dusk rapidly and Kenneth’s instant 
survey of the ground for tracks leading away was 
futile. 

“They’ve struck out for Lost Creek, likely,” ven- 
tured Arthur. 

“Perhaps. We’ll push on to the creek and will 
probably find them there — or on the way.” 

“Shall we leave these horses, in this shape?” 

282 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT | 

‘‘We can^t do anything else. The owner figures 
he’ll send some one back for the team and wagon.” 

The boys reached Lost Creek at daylight. Ken- 
neth was again carrying the little calf, limp and almost 
lifeless. They had spent hours of desperate fighting 
against the grim weakness that bore down the suf- 
fering cattle. When the spring came into view they 
plunged ahead and into the little stream, gulping at 
the water greedily. In five minutes they were all 
cropping at the short brown grass. 

Kenneth immediately looked about for tracks of 
the emigrants. None were to be found. 

“Art, we’ve got to go back. Those people have 
never been here.” 

“We can’t spare the time for that, Kent,” objected 
Arthur. “We can’t bring them in, so the best thing 
is to push our cattle on to the Buttes, then to find 
somebody to go back and take care of them.” 

“They may need water now — right now. Art. If 
we went on and help got back too late, we’d — we’d 
feel sort of queer over our part in it.” 

“I guess you’re right, Kent. But it does seem use- 
less to go without any means to help them out. We 
can take them water but what else can we do ?” 

“Water is enough. It’s all they’ll want just now. 
When we find them our ponies can drag the wagon 
in.” 

Two hours later they rode up to the “schooner” 
283 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


again. The horses had not moved. They soon found 
the tracks and followed them in grim silence, as fast 
as their tired ponies could gallop through the sand. 
There were the tracks of a man, a woman, and two 
little children. At times the little footprints ceased 
abruptly, then, after a long interval began again. 

Both boys eagerly searched the horizon for figures ; 
but nothing, not even a ledge or sage-covered hillock, 
broke the serene expanse of illusive billows. The 
tracks led southward — toward the vanishing lake, van- 
ishing from the foreground, but always to beckon 
tauntingly from the distance. 

The tracks grew closer, the spaces shorter, swinging 
in a vast circle, whose each succeeding bit of arc re- 
volved about a shorter radius than the last. Then lit- 
tle furrows began to trace themselves between the 
footprints. Sometimes they stopped and the rounded 
impressions of bodies were there in the sand instead. 
Then Arthur saw a rag doll lying forlornly in the 
trail. He thought of the tears that must have fallen 
before even that limp rag became too heavy. He 
picked it up and thrust it furtively into his pocket. 

Hour after hour the courageous little ponies trotted 
over the sand. Noon came, but still nothing to break 
the waving, silvery horizon. At first an occasional 
word passed between the boys; these had ceased, for 
they knew what v ^ b,s before them, and how bitter the 
284 



“The woman looked up, her eyes dull with the agony of despair.” 




IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 


fight against the mocking desert. The sun went down 
in flaming fury — in the northeast, asserted Arthur. 

‘‘We’re going in a big circle. You’re turned half 
around,” was Kenneth’s only comment. 

At dusk they stopped reluctantly, fed their ponies 
the last handful of oats, tied their reins to their wrists, 
and lay down on the hot sand. 

At daybreak they again pressed forward after the 
footprints — each one of which plowed its way to the 
next ahead. The smaller tracks had long since ceased. 
At nine o’clock, the sun at their right, Kenneth de- 
scried far ahead a little clump of grayish-blue. With- 
out a word he pointed; Arthur saw, and understood, 
for he, too, dreaded what they should find. Ten min- 
utes later they rode up. A woman, swaying from side 
to side in utter dejection, sat huddled over two little 
forms in her lap. The man was gone. 

Kenneth had already unpacked his canteen and was 
dismounting, when the woman looked up, her eyes 
dull with the agony of despair, her lips parched and 
swollen. Like a flash the listless torpor vanished and 
the ferocity of mother-hope swept into the haggard 
face. She leaped to her feet and clutched at the ex- 
tended canteen. 

“Water ! O my dear, good God ! He has not for- 
saken us utterly. Drink, Margie, Freddie — drink!” 
she whispered frantically through her dry throat. 

She pressed the can to the lips of the two drowsy 

285 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


children, alternately, giving to each a generous draft. 
Then she took one swallow herself, and turned her 
eyes along the path her husband had taken. 

‘‘Hurry, hurry on, one of you, for mercy^s sake! 
He can’t be far ahead — and he refused his share of 
every drop we had.” 

As if feeling Kenneth’s unspoken command Arthur 
left them and hurried after the wavering tracks ahead. 
Without a word Kenneth helped the woman upon his 
horse and handed up the children, placing one before 
and the other behind her. 

“Now, we’ll follow,” he said, when they were set- 
tled securely. Seizing a strap Kenneth trotted along 
at the side, while the woman in nervous haste urged 
the pony ahead. 

In five minutes they found themselves overlooking 
a sandy hollow at the bottom of which stood a covered 
wagon. 

A cry broke from the woman. 

“Oh! Oh! Look! Can there be anyone else so 
unfortunate as to be traveling in this terrible, terrible 
desert? Look, how that poor man staggers! Oh! 
Why — why that is my husband — and is ” 

“That is your wagon.” 

“Our wagon. Impossible. We left that miles and 
miles behind, three days ago.” 

“We’ve been going in a circle and have come again 
to the starting-place.” 


286 


IN THE GRIP OF THE DESERT 


Tears came to the mother's eyes and she began to 
sob. The children shouted elatedly that they had 
found their wagon again. When they approached a 
minute later the father was sitting on the tongue, his 
face buried in his hands, but he jumped to his feet 
when they came near. 

‘‘Mother,” he said, “the road we lost is over there 
just a hundred yards — ^and to think of the three awful 
days we've had !” 

Their horses were gone, the tracks leading toward 
Lost Creek. Ten minutes later the boys had put their 
own ponies in harness and the wagon was rolling up 
to the trail. Two hours before sundown they reached 
the little oasis, where they found the truant horses, 
much recovered. 

After an hour's rest and a simple lunch they started 
once more, this time on the last lap to the border of 
Laramie Flats. The cattle with but little urging 
trailed ahead decorously; the exhausted team of the 
emigrant brought up the rear. 

At ten o'clock they drove into the ranch at the foot 
of the Buttes. After the teams were put up Kenneth 
and Arthur went in to bid their new-found friends 
good-by. 

“We sleep till two and then go on,” said Kenneth. 
“We're due in Sterling at ten tomorrow morning, so 
we'll not see you again. Good-by — and better luck.” 

The handclasps of the weary man and woman were 
287 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


made in silence. They looked their gratitude, but 
seemed unable to speak. Twice they made the effort 
as the boys bent over and touched the fingers of the 
sleeping children. 

“God bless you,** exclaimed the mother at last; “I 
shall pray that He give you dear boys just what you 
deserve.** 

“Ah — God bless you,** echoed the man as the boys 
backed out of the room. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX” 

I T was nearly eight o’clock when Kenneth and 
Arthur galloped in to the ranch. They were hot, 
hungry, and gray with dust. Without a thought 
for themselves they stripped the saddles from their 
ponies, watered and fed them carefully, then gave 
them a lively rub-down, for they had eight miles yet 
to go. 

At the house they found no one. Mr. and Mrs. 
McGregor had already gone to Sterling, where Mr. 
McGregor was one of the numerous marshals of the 
day. After snatching a cold bite to eat, they brushed 
themselves up and in twenty minutes were again in 
the saddle, riding slowly, for an hour and a half re- 
mained in which to reach the grounds. 

At ten o’clock came the boys’ half-mile race, for 
which Arthur had been training one of the best ponies. 
The first prize was only twenty-five dollars but, since 
he had been forced to give up his big plans with 
Spunk, even that sum would mean much to them. 
The boys had two ponies entered for races during the 
289 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

fair, and while they were away Colonel Hanby had 
entrusted them to Dave Harter. Dave was to 
exercise them daily, and, in case they were late in 
returning, was to take them down to Sterling and get 
them familiar with the track. It was necessary, there- 
fore, to reach the grounds only in time for the first 
race; the pony would be ready. So they trotted lei- 
surely along, sparing the two weary saddlehorses. 

“Well, Art,” said Kenneth as they rode down into 
the valley, “the next three days will tell the tale. If 
we can carry home one fat prize or even several small 
ones we’ll be sure of school next month. How’s your 
nerve ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Kent. I’m afraid I haven’t 
much nerve left,” replied Arthur gloomily. “We’ve 
done nothing but fight odds ever since we began. As 
soon as we see ahead and begin to count our chickens, 
up bobs something that knocks our schemes sky- 
high.” 

“We’re not whipped yet. Art,” observed Kenneth 
cheerfully. 

“No, but we’ve three days to be licked in,” was 
Arthur’s dry rejoinder. “Now just look back and see 
what we’ve faced. Things looked fine last fall. The 
hardest winter for years and years cleaned up all the 
hay and pasture so that uncle lost lots of money on 
those steers. Then we found Roarer Jones and his 
gang had picked up half a dozen head and no telling 
290 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX” 


how many calves. Next, we began to figure on Spunk 
for Frontier Day, and then came the first promise of 
real luck weVe had : Jack Porter offered me two hun- 
dred dollars for him. Just as might have been ex- 
pected that luck was spoiled by the loco — and with it 
a good chance for that fifty-dollar purse. Then came 
the salted springs, and calf after calf dropped off. 
We did win out finally with our two hundred, but that 
was only an accident. It's been just one blamed thing 
after another. It will be simply an accident if we win 
anything at the fair." 

‘We sure have bucked a lot of tough propositions," 
admitted Kenneth thoughtfully, “but I haven’t given 
up yet — and I don’t want you to get cold feet either. 
If you go into a race expecting to lose, lose you will. 
Go in to win, and you’ll be mighty apt to win. Now 
when you take Spot into that dash this morning just 
forget there’s any place in that field for you but first 
— start first, stay first, and get first money. Spot can 
do it if you can. Then when you get into the boys’ 
steer-roping contest think of nothing but win — it’s 
the only way. I’m going into that with the same no- 
tion, so maybe one or the other of us will win out. 
As to my riding I’m going in against men — old riders 
who have done nothing else for years, so my chances 
may be slim; but, just the same. I’m going in to get 
first money. I may not do the best riding, but I’ve 
got a little scheme that is going to make those judges 
291 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

wonder who I am. That three hundred is worth a 
hard trial.'* 

Dave Harter had done good work with the ponies. 
Spot, the first one up, was in fine fettle and won his 
dash with a splendid margin. In the other race — a 
free for all — where Arthur had expected his horse to 
run well, racers had been imported from Denver. The 
best he could do was to win a poor third, with a purse 
of five dollars. Both boys did fairly well in their 
roping the next afternoon ; but the two weeks without 
practice and the unavoidable awkwardness of the year- 
lings allotted them resulted disastrously, though they 
each won special mention among some fine displays 
of skill. 

The broncho-riding for men, which Kenneth had 
boldly entered, began with qualifying preliminaries 
the afternoon of the third day. Kenneth drew a slow, 
stubborn outlaw, rode him too easily, and barely won 
a place in the finals. Some of the directors had ob- 
jected to permitting a boy enter so dangerous a con- 
test, but he had finally persuaded them to give him at 
least a trial. He strongly suspected, however, that 
Colonel Hanby, who had come in that morning, had 
been directly responsible for the poor mount given 
him — for with no chance to display horsemanship the 
chance of qualifying for the finals would be equally 
slender. 

The finals were to be ridden off the fourth after- 
292 


THE SPIRIT OF ‘ SEVENTY-SIX’’ 


noon, these to be followed by the awarding of prizes 
and the grand barbecue — to many the greatest event of 
them all. 

When it came to the allotment of horses Kenneth 
again met vigorous opposition. 

‘‘We cannot permit a mere boy to enter this contest, 
gentlemen,’’ argued one of the managers. “His place 
was among the boys’ events where we employed a 
much less dangerous type of horse. We were finally 
persuaded yesterday, though much against our wills, 
and I will say frankly that it was at the solicitation 
of Colonel Hanby that we finally acquiesced. He 
agreed to choose a horse upon which young McGregor 
could not possibly qualify for the finals. By some 
chance the plan failed, so we have the same problem 
to solve today. I, for one, am heartily against him — 
the horses are too treacherous for one of his weight 
and judgment. My boy, you had better withdraw; 
you have little or no chance against such men as we 
have here today — Cowdry, Elliott, Fitch; and on such 
mounts as Denver, Steamboat, Ironsides, and the like. 
You may be killed. What say?” 

“I want to make the try, sir,” answered Kenneth 
respectfully. “I’ve ridden a good deal and would like 
the chance to win — no matter how small it is. It 
means so much to us.” 

“But you’re too light, boy ; you cannot handle these 
vicious animals — ^you’ve neither the strength nor ex- 
293 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


perience. It might endanger lives in the bleachers. 
Just suppose now that you drew “76” and he should 
bolt with you. What weight can you throw on his 
bit? How much do you weigh, anyway — a hundred 
thirty?” 

‘‘One hundred fifty-eight.” 

“You don’t look it.” 

“It doesn’t matter much what I weigh. If I got' 
“76” and he bolted with me, I’d have to take my 
chances where we’d go — same as others who have rid- 
den him before. They’ve never held him yet, so why 
should I be expected to?” argued Kenneth earnestly, 
for he began to fear that he might not be allowed to 
compete. “You ask Colonel Hanby, or Shorty Wil- 
son, or any of the fellows from Laramie Flats, what I 
can do. I’m young, I admit, but ” 

“Let him try it, boys,” called out Hanby when ques- 
tioned. “He’s been riding everything on Laramie 
Flats this summer — and sitting them well, too; but I 
had no idea he was after anything but the prize in the 
boys’ contest. You’ll find him mighty quick and clever 
in the saddle, and he’s smart enough not to get hurt. 
So give him his chance. If he fails or gets badly 
mauled, he can remember that he had fair warning.” 

“Very well, my lad,” said the objecting marshal, 
“but you are at liberty to withdraw any time you wish. 
Perhaps the experience of some who come before you 
may persuade you that your chances are slight.” 

294 


THE SPIRIT OF ‘‘SEVENTY-SIX’^ 


Fourteen riders had qualified for the finals. The 
thirteen men preceded Kenneth and had the choice of 
the thirty most dangerous and determined outlaws 
picked for miles around. Several of these men made 
brilliant rides and were predicted as likely winners. 
Three were thrown ignominiously, one being shot ten 
feet into the midst of a group of shrieking ladies; he 
dropped through the planks and emerged sheepishly 
from behind the grandstand. Another was thrown 
heavily, to be attacked instantly by the vicious brute 
whose reputation already entitled him to his name — 
The Mankiller. His victim was carried from the field 
unconscious, terribly hurt. The horses of two bucked 
fitfully for a minute or two, then meekly subsided, 
giving their riders no chance to display their horse- 
manship. 

Kenneth's slip of paper called for “76," the one 
outlaw whose untamable brilliancy had won him fame 
through half a score of states. To Kenneth this 
chance selection seemed the smile of kindly Fortune, 
for he knew that only upon the back of the wildest, 
most unmanageable horse could the best ride be made 
— at least the ride which would most appeal to the 
judges, to whom the spectacular usually meant the 
best. To many well-meaning friends, however, this 
choice seemed nothing short of a calamity. 

'‘Why, that's murder — to permit that boy to ride 

295 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

‘76/ shouted one man. ‘He^ll kill ’im; he^s killed 
one already.” 

‘‘What’s got into the youngster?” demanded an- 
other. “Does he think because he can break a colt he 
can handle an outlaw?” 

Several went to Kenneth’s father and mother to 
remonstrate. But the old Scot refused to interfere, 
much to their surprise and indignation. 

“It’s the boy’s own doings, so I shall not get in his 
way,” said McGregor. “Yon lad’s a cool head on his 
shoulders, gentlemen. It might pay you to watch 
him,” was his final response, turning to his work. 

“76” was a striped buckskin whose former name 
had been Yankee. One day the boys at the L F 
Ranch, where Yankee belonged, after the playful 
manner of cowboys, inveigled a dapper young cock- 
ney upon his back. The horse waited meekly until 
the Britisher was firmly seated, had gathered up his 
reins, and was smilingly bidding his comrades good-by 
for the afternoon. Yankee looked around inquiringly 
once, presented to the howling audience one thrilling 
minute of ranch vaudeville, then bolted straight for 
the fifty-barrel water tank. At its rim he stopped — 
suddenly. The cockney shot into its scum-covered 
depths. Yankee stood calmly looking on — the boys 
declared he was laughing — -while the discomfited rider 
emerged, crawled over the side, and, without a word, 
296 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX” 


started coatless and hatless down the dusty trail for 
Iliff. 

Pete Henly, the ranch wag, grinningly observed 
that, “In ’76 the Yanks sure showed the British some 
tricks — and they can do it yet when they mix.” Since 
then “76” had clung to the buckskin and “Yankee” 
was lost in the dusty past. 

“Well, boy, are you satisfied with the boss, or do 
you want to change?” asked one of the starters. 

“He’ll do, I guess,” laughed Kenneth, as his mount 
was led into the grounds. 

“76” was meek. He did not need to be blindfolded, 
as did many of the horses during the saddling. He 
nibbled indifferently at a wiry tuft of sand-grass that 
stuck its green spires up at his feet, while two men 
cautiously threw the heavy saddle to his striped back 
and cinched it. Kenneth gave the horn a jerk or two 
and examined the girths and his stirrups, getting 
their length with his arm. “76” made no move ex- 
cept to edge forward a step after another blade of 
grass, much in the same manner that well-bred horses 
often take advantage of indulgent masters. The 
whites of his eyes glistened a trifle more than usual — 
that was all. 

“Take another hitch in the cinch,” called out a 
kind-hearted onlooker from his perch on the fence. 
“He swells up awful.” Kenneth nodded and smiled 
297 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

at his adviser, but he had already caught ‘‘76’' in the 
act, and had been too quick for the horse. 

When everything was ready Kenneth knotted his 
reins loosely and dropped them over the horn of his 
saddle. Then, waving the helpers aside without try- 
ing his stirrups, he vaulted lightly into his seat. 

‘‘76” seemed mildly surprised. He turned his 
white-rimmed eyes around toward his rider queru- 
lously, then dropped his nose for another blade of 
grass. Without a false move he responded to the 
pressure of the rein on his neck and swerved at Ken- 
neth’s command out toward the center of the field. 

“Look out there, boy,” came a voice from the side, 
“don’t let the old fox catch you napping.” 

One of the most effective assets of an outlaw is his 
utterly dejected meekness during the preliminary 
handling. It often disarms his rider. He will per- 
mit himself to be readily caught from the corral. He 
may be saddled as easily as old Dobbin may be har- 
nessed. He will kindly permit his rider to mount. 
He will start meekly off ; his rider settles comfortably 
and gracefully into his saddle, relaxes any vigilance 
he may at first have shown, and ventures to wave a 
confident hand to his friends, then — the exhibition be- 
gins, to end abruptly, too often. 

“76” was master of his art — ^past master, in fact. 
He began his contortions suddenly, unexpectedly, and 
with savage fury. His first act was to scream and 
298 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX” 


bite viciously at his rider's leg, and simultaneously to 
begin two minutes of straight-line bucking. This he 
delivered with a rolling, rocking staccato that had sel- 
dom failed to unseat presumptuous riders. 

Kenneth seemed to have been taken by surprise. At 
the outlaw’s first backward thrust with bared teeth he 
emitted a yell that reached far past the outskirts of 
the great crowd. There was no mistaking the note of 
dismay in his outcry; evidently Kenneth had made no 
plans to ride an outlaw and to fight a snarling beast 
at the same time. The instant the outlaw left the 
ground his rider seemed to abandon all efforts for a 
graceful ride; he clutched awkwardly at the saddle 
and clung as if for dear life. It was just as many of 
the crowd had expected. Scores of them, espe- 
cially the envious boys, fairly shrieked with delight to 
see the presumptuous rider ‘'hunt leather” — and that 
at the first jump. 

“76” paused and seemed surprised that he still car- 
ried a weight. Once again he turned his head ques- 
tioningly to the side. Then with another savage nip 
at Kenneth’s leg he changed his rollicking staccato 
into a medley. With nose between his forelegs, and 
with back humped to a quarter circle he made scores 
of tremendous leaps, each time, while in the air, whirl- 
ing once, twice, and even thrice, before landing with 
legs as stiff and unbending as columns of steel; while 
between leaps he doubled back and forth in zigzag 
299 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 

lines until his own brain must have reeled with dizzi- 
ness. 

Time after time he screamed and as often darted 
his bared foam-covered teeth at his rider. Down to 
his knees he suddenly dropped, so abruptly that it 
seemed incredible that Kenneth should still cling to 
his seat. Just as it seemed that ‘*76” was surely turn- 
ing a somersault, and Kenneth was ready to fall to the 
side the old fox was up like a flash and high in air 
again, whirling and zigzagging in a frenzy of baf- 
fled rage. 

Through the three minutes of this brilliant spec- 
tacle the crowd shrieked with merriment and held its 
breath alternately, in admiration for the game old 
horse or in fear for his rider. 

How Kenneth managed to retain his seat on the 
back of “76” no one could understand. A dozen times 
he had seemed on the point of being hurled to the turf, 
but each time had miraculously held his grip. Once 
he was behind the saddle his feet locked in front of 
the pommel. A second later he was straddling the 
broncho’s neck, clinging desperately to the cantle. 
Again, he lay across the back of *^76,” his face down- 
ward, one hand holding the horn the other clutching 
at the cinch halfway down the outlaw’s side. At each 
critical moment Kenneth shrieked in apparent terror. 
It seemed that his desperation was an ally binding him 
300 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX’’ 


tenaciously to a seat dangerous to hold and yet more 
dangerous to relinquish. 

To the majority of the crowd this was the feast of 
Frontier Day. The countless ludicrous positions of 
the would-be rider, the grotesque appearance he pre- 
sented as he miraculously recovered his grip each time 
it was shaken loose by the determined outlaw, and the 
monstrous farce that had grown out of the boy’s stub- 
born resolve to compete seriously in this contest 
against seasoned men, these all combined to drive 
from the hilarious company every thought of sym- 
pathy or anxiety they may have entertained at the 
start. Now, it was simply the noble effort of old 
‘‘76,” the pride of a dozen counties, to defend his 
reputation against a vandal who sought to destroy it. 

The roars of the crowd were deafening. Out of 
the medley came an occasional voice that reached the 
ears close by. 

‘‘Go it, Yankee! Stand by your guns! Don’t give 
up your ship !” 

“Hooray, for 76!” 

“Hide under your saddle, boy; he can’t get you 
there.” 

“Go it, old boss, rock ’im to sleep.” 

“Pour some chloroform in his ear, little man; put 
the nag to sleep.” 

Up near the judges’ stand were a group of a dozen 
boys from the Pawnee Ranch. When Kenneth 
301 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


mounted they had recognized him, so when his first 
yell escaped every hat had gone into the air, and they 
had whooped with malicious delight. As the bron- 
cho’s frenzy increased and with it the frantic contor- 
tions of his terrified rider, the gratification of this 
little group swelled into uncontrollable exuberance. 
Before five minutes had passed every man of them had 
scrambled through the fence'^nd was rolling hilari- 
ously in the sand, their number increased by a hun- 
dred whooping boys. 

“Oh, ye gods and little fishes !” yelled Grub Oliver, 
pausing for breath, “I never knew why I was living 
till now. It was for this” — and into the sand he rolled 
again. 

“Oh, you boy!” shouted another, “you may be slick 
at hunting snipe, but your place is with the circus.” 

“Take it away! Take it away!” howled Monty 
Green, “Tm getting sick to my stumick !” 

“Why, oh, why did I ever come today?” wailed the 
cook from Pawnee ; “I’ll never be able to stand a quiet 
life any more.” 

“Brace up there, 76,” yelled another, “don’t let that 
kid man-handle you out of any glory.” 

To some, however — Kenneth’s friends and the saner 
minds — it was a matter of grave concern. The lad 
would soon be exhausted and completely at the mercy 
of the monster. It could only be a matter of a few 
minutes, seconds perhaps, before he would be hurled 
302 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX’’ 


to the ground and kicked or trampled by the savage 
horse — for did not stop when his rider had been 

unseated. A kick, a strike, or a vicious snap of his 
teeth had disabled more than one of his vanquished 
victims. A score of sympathizers demanded that the 
horse be caught and the boy helped to safety. 

Arthur stood against the fence in front of the 
grandstand along with Colonel Hanby and Molly 
Shannon. The colonel followed every move of the 
battle, his face set in a look of tense anxiety. Arthur 
followed the contest equally closely, but his eyes spar- 
kled with satisfaction; Molly was frantic. After an 
unusually exciting instant she whirled toward Arthur 
and the colonel, stamping her feet vehemently. 

“Colonel Hanby, for mercy’s sake, why don’t you 
do something to stop that frightful spectacle? How 
can you stand it to see poor Kenneth racked and 
bruised by that awful monster? Won’t you please, 
please, tell the special police to stop it — they’ll do just 
as you say?” she finished, pleadingly. 

“I could stop it, Molly, of course,” replied Colonel 
Hanby, “but as long as his father makes no move it 
is hardly my place to interfere. Still, I am not wor- 
ried about Kenneth — he is clever enough to protect 
himself if '76’ throws him. What distresses me is 
the humiliation of his failure.” 

“And you, Arthur,” cried Molly, seeing a smile on 
his face, “why, you are actually laughing— you hard- 
303 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


hearted boy! Aren’t you ashamed? Suppose Ken- 
neth should be horribly mangled. Then you’d ” 

Arthur’s answer was a confidential nudge. 

“Don’t you fret, Molly,” replied Arthur, still grin- 
ning. “Kent’s been on top for eight or ten minutes, 
now, and the fact of the matter is, old ‘76’ isn’t horse 
enough to throw him. Just between you and me, 
Molly” — he whispered — “Kent doesn’t need to ride 
that way. Just watch close a minute. You’ll see he 
drops his hold lots of times when you’d think he 
ought to be gripping for dear life. See — ^look at that 
now. That steed is apt to get the worst trimming of 
his life.” 

Molly seemed to see what Arthur had pointed out. 
Her distress changed to satisfaction. 

“76” tried every style of picturesque bucking known 
to him — and there was nothing in the art of unseating 
a rider that he did not know. But the desperate fear 
of Kenneth seemed to defy every move. 

Suddenly he stopped bucking, turned his eyes ac- 
cusingly toward his rider, then dropped his head in 
submission and started meekly off in the direction of 
the big corral. He seemed to have given up the bat- 
tle. But — like a flash of light he had whirled and was 
high in air with a series of contortions surprisingly 
brilliant. Kenneth was dangling from the horn or 
lying lengthwise along the outlaw’s back hugging the 

304 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX” 


saddle during the most of this display; his grip held, 
so the effort went for naught. 

Once again the veteran resorted to a trick. In the 
midst of a violent plunge, intermingled with cork- 
screw twists, mighty leaps, and screams, old '‘76” 
reared with lightning swiftness and threw himself 
backward — the most dangerous play of a determined 
horse. At this the crowd gasped, expecting Kenneth 
to be crushed under the outlaw’s back. But to their 
amazement the rider dropped lightly to the side and 
stood waiting, while '‘76” completed his fall, rolled 
over, and flung himself to his feet; then he vaulted 
into the saddle again. 

“76” shook himself and stood for a moment, dazed 
at the baffling failure and the audacity of his rider. 
This time the great crowd fairly howled in their ad- 
miration of the splendid feat, for many were begin- 
ning to see that Kenneth’s movements were too care- 
less to be genuine. 

In that instant of hesitation Kenneth jerked off his 
hat, which strangely had clung to his neck by its straps 
of whang through the whole performance, and waved 
it three times above his head. 

“The second act!” he shouted. 

“76” was just beginning to fight. Before, he had 
felt his mastery and had been playing with his vic- 
tim. He began his contortions with redoubled energy. 
But his rider was no longer the clinging, frightened 

305 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


boy; he sat his saddle confidently, flicking carelessly 
with his quirt at the outlaw's flattened eai*s. Again 
and again, with the stubborn persistence that had made 
the old horse famous, ‘‘76" tried all the craft, bru- 
tality, and sheer force he had ever used. Time after 
time he essayed furious periods of bucking that, it 
seemed, must shake the very life from his rider. But 
Kenneth rode calmly erect, ofttimes with folded arms. 7 

Twice the outlaw dropped to the ground and at- * 
tempted to roll. Kenneth slipped off as his horse went 
down, and smiling waited for him to rise, vaulting 
into the saddle again. 

Three times old “76" bolted, with flaring nostrils, 
straight for the fence. Once Kenneth turned him 
with sharp taps of his quirt; once with his hat held 
before the broncho's eyes; and the third time he 
reached forward and gripped the pony's nose, turning 
him by sheer strength. 

Time after time “76" crashed sidewise into the 
fence in a frantic effort to crush his rider or brush 
him from his back; Kenneth's leg was always lifted 
in time. 

Finally he tried once more to unseat Kenneth by 
rearing. Sharp taps with the quirt-butt sent him to 
his feet. Intermingled with it all were screams, and 
savage thrusts with his bared teeth. Kenneth was al- 
ways ready, crushing a foot against the outlaw's nose, 
or jamming his quirt between the savage teeth. 

306 


THE SPIRIT OF “SEVENTY-SIX” 


At last the veteran began to weary. His frenzied 
efforts became fewer and less determined. He was be- 
ginning to feel a master — an experience strangely new 
to him. Finally Kenneth reached forward and pushed 
off the bridle with his whip. Then he slipped back on 
the outlaw’s rump, loosed the cinches, and permitted 
the saddle to fall to the ground, amid the frantic 
cheering of the crowd. 

The broncho’s freedom gave him an instant of en- 
couragement. He tried again to vault and squirm 
from beneath his rider; but his movements were slow 
and lacked his old surprising snap. Kenneth urged 
him on relentlessly with the rawhide, breaking the 
efforts to buck into long, vaulting leaps. 

Finally the old horse stopped and turned his last 
querulous look back toward his rider — a comical act 
for which he had long been noted. Kenneth cut him 
sharply across the rump, swerved him toward the 
track which encircled the field, then urged him to a 
brisk gallop. Once, twice, three times, over the half- 
mile course they went, faster over each succeeding lap, 
Kenneth guiding the horse with his quirt, and sitting 
far back, heels locked in his pony’s flanks. 

The last time around, when opposite the judges’ 
stand, Kenneth called out sharply : 

“Whoa!” 

“76” slowed down, stopped, and hung his head as 
if in shame. The spirit of “76” was dead. 

307 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


Kenneth flung one leg to the side of the other and 
sat across the veteran’s back until the crowd surged 
out and around him. Then he slid off, patted the 
horse on the nose, and strode away toward his friends. 

A cheer began at the judges’ stand, went through 
the frenzied mob, and swelled to a deafening roar; 

‘"McGregor wins! McGregor wins!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


GOOD LUCK AT LAST 

A n hour later the McGregors, Colonel Hanby, 
and Molly Shannon were seated together 
under a big cottonwood waiting for their 
share in the barbecue, which was the closing act of 
Frontier Day. Scattered among the trees that dotted 
one side of the grounds were the hundreds who, a 
short time before, had been cheering on their favor- 
ites. Now they were collected in groups each proudly 
boasting of victories, or noisily explaining unmerited 
defeats. Trotting busily among them were dozens of 
white-aproned men bearing either huge baskets, broad 
platters, or great buckets, filled with the food and 
drink hungrily awaited by the throng. 

Kenneth was the hero of his little group. 

‘‘Say, my boy, that was certainly a clever trick of 
yours,*' said Colonel Hanby enthusiastically. “To tell 
the truth, I was feeling mighty sorry for you.’* 

“So was I,** chimed in Molly, “but when I found 
out you were just fooling, I giggled until my sides 
fairly ached; and I declare the folks around Arthur 
and me glared as if they’d have liked to mob us-^ 

309 


THE LUCK GF LARAMIE RANCH 


thought we were heartless brutes. Oh, but it was 
splendid the way you rode. My,/ if I were just a 
boyT’ 

Kenneth blushed uncomfortably. 

‘‘I don’t think I rode nearly as well as several 
others,” he replied modestly. “But there was one 
thing I figured out long ago — weeks, wasn’t it. Art? 
I knew that if I stood any chance of winning today 
I’d have to make my riding entirely different from 
anything the judges were expecting. I had a notion 
that a little ranch vaudeville would make enough con- 
trast so that the last half would seem better than it 
really was. It may not have been quite fair, but I 
wanted that purse — most awfully bad.” 

“It was just as fair as could be,” declared Molly, 
“wasn’t it. Colonel? The riders who always win are 
those who are spectacular, and thrill the crowd the 
most— and if you didn’t thrill the crowd, no one ever 
did.” 

A little later the people began to scatter, hundreds 
leaving early to clatter off to their ranches. Ken- 
neth and Molly stood alone for several minutes under 
the tree. 

“Well, Kenneth,” said Molly, “I’m to teach on the 
Flats this year, as usual. Tell me, will you be my 
pupil again, or will you get to come to high school? 
You and Arthur were planning to come here, weren’t 
you?” 


310 


GOOD LUCK AT LAST 


“Yes — and I think we shall.’^ 

Then Kenneth told her of the long struggle against 
so many disappointing things, and how, by his win- 
ning ride he had removed the last obstacle — the needed 
money for the mortgage, and for a man to take his 
place. 

“Oh, isn’t that just splendid,” cried Molly. “Fve 
heard the echoes of what you’ve been doing, and I 
really don’t see how you’ve had the courage to keep 
on trying. How could you ?” 

Kenneth’s face flushed, but his eyes half closed in 
dreamy thought. 

“It would have taken more courage to give up. 
You ought to understand, Molly. You know how 
I’ve ached to get my fingers on the first rung and be- 
gin to climb. It’s like one were drowning: it isn’t 
his courage that makes him fight for breath; it’s be- 
cause what he wants most in this world is above the 
level, and there’s nothing below.” 

Molly’s face was flushing, too. She thrust out a 
hand impulsively and gripped Kenneth’s arm. 

“Kenneth, Kenneth, what a man you are! How I 
wish you were my brother — I’d be the proudest girl 
in the world.” 

“Pshaw, Molly I” laughed Kenneth, “proud ? What 
for? Just think what an ignorant lout I am. Eighteen 
— and how far, far I’ve got to climb to be worth 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


“Ah, that’s the reason, boy. You’re looking up, and 
you’re ready to climb — ^have started, in fact, for 
there’s so many splendid things you learned long 
ago.” 

Next morning Jack Porter rode up to the Circle 
Dot ranch, just when the McGregors were coming 
out from breakfast. 

“Well, Art,” he asked, after his jovial greeting, 
“how’s that little Kentucky Whip you’ve been keeping 
for me? I declare, it’s going to be a fight between 
my boy and me as to who gets him to ride. Come, 
let’s go right out and size him up.” 

Arthur glanced weakly from Porter to his uncle 
and back again. 

“Why, Mr. Porter,” he began timidly, “didn’t I 
tell you about Spunk when I was up in Denver? I’m 
sure I did — don’t you remember?” 

“How’s that? I believe I do recollect your telling 
me some yarn about the colt, but bless me, if I re- 
member what it was.” 

“Well, I — I — I’m afraid our deal is all off. 
Spunk ” 

“Heigho, my lad! None of that. I paid you a 
tenner down and we shook. If the colt’s worth more 
than two hundred now, that’s your loss, not mine. I 
want that pony.” 

“But — ^but he isn’t worth — anything — now ; he’s lo- 
coed. I’ll have to give you back your ten dollars,” 
312 


GOOD LUCK AT LAST 


spoke up Arthur bravely, for his disappointment was 
as keen as ever. 

“Bosh !’* roared Porter. “A well-bred horse locoed ! 
Don’t you know a good boss won’t eat weeds, or 
trash? He’s like a self-respecting man — clean and 
decent. No, no, you can’t beat Jack Porter out of a 
good pony that easy. Show up your crazy boss.” 
The big drover was laughing at the joke. 

“Come along, then ; you’ll see,” ordered Arthur des- 
perately. 

“Hmm!” was Porter’s ejaculation at the first glance. 
“Looks bad, sure. But it doesn’t strike me there’s 
any loco here. Got a glass?” 

Kenneth dashed off to the house and was back in a 
minute with a magnifying glass. Porter squinted 
through it at several spots along Spunk’s side and once 
at his bare face. 

“Ha! Just what I thought. Here — ^take a peek — 
Mac, Art, Kent. On his neck, too — see ’em? I find 
it every day or so down at the stock-yards. A bit of 
dip does the work and they slick right up again. 
Queer you were fooled. Took it for granted his fuss- 
ing around meant loco — ^never troubled to look him 
over, eh? No, no, son; you can’t scare Porter off 
this easy.” 

There was a queer expression of surprise on Ar- 
thur’s face as he looked first at Kenneth and his uncle, 
then toward the drover. 


313 


THE LUCK OF LARAMIE RANCH 


‘Then you’ll take him, Mr. Porter? You 
think 

Jack Porter laughed his answer, crashing a fat 
fist down upon Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Take him? Just somebody try to stop me.” 

Arthur turned back to Kenneth, with the same look 
of surprise on his face. 

“Well ! Did you ever see such luck ! Everything’s 
coming our way — now.” 


(I) 


THE END 






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